A human heart is a skein of such imperceptibly and subtly interwoven threads that even the owner of it is often himself at a loss how to unravel it.

More people laugh at us than with us, however it may appear at the moment.

Curses are like processions. They return to the place from which they came.

Stories first heard standing at a mother's knee, are never wholly forgotten, — a little spring that never quite dries up in our journey through scorching years.

Selfishness, if but reasonably tempered with wisdom, is not such an evil trait.

Fancy borrows much from memory, and so looks back to the past.

Trifling favors are readily acknowledged, though cheaply esteemed; but important ones are most rarely remembered.