I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb. Ineffable socialities are in me. I would sit down and dine with you and all the gods in old Rome's Pantheon. It is a strange feeling--no hopefulness is in it, no despair. Content--that is it; and irresponsibility; but without licentious inclination.

The pleasure of leaving home, care-free, with no concern but to enjoy, has also as a pendant the pleasure of coming back to the old hearthstone, the home to which, however traveled, the heart still fondly turns, ignoring the burden of its anxieties and cares.

He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married.

Truth is ever incoherent, and when the big hearts strike together, the concussion is a little stunning.

To be a born American citizen seems a guarantee against pauperism; and this, perhaps, springs from the virtue of a vote.

A man can be honest in any sort of skin.

And the visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright.