Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending.
Truth has rough flavours if we bite it through.
Friendship is the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words.
Loquacity with tongue or pen is its own reward -- or, punishment.
The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.
Love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the domain of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.