There is nothing so carking as the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity.

Success is a great healer.

Oh, what is young love! The urge of the race. A blaze that ends in babies or ashes.

the curse of human nature is imagination. When a long anticipated moment comes, we always find it pitched a note too low, for the wings of imagination are crushed into its withering sides under the crowding hordes of petty realities.

Did any great genius ever enter the world in the wake of commonplace pre-natal conditions? Was a maker of history ever born amidst the pleasant harmonies of a satisfied domesticity? Of a mother who was less than remarkable, although she may have escaped being great? Did a woman with no wildness in her blood ever inform a brain with electric fire? The students of history know that while many mothers of great men have been virtuous, none have been commonplace, and few have been happy.

A little superstition is a good thing to keep in one's bag of precautions.

Women love the lie that saves their pride, but never an unflattering truth.