For certain people, misfortune is a beacon that lights up the dark and baser sides of social life.
Poetry is only born after painful journeys into the vast regions of thought.
Society is no more indulgent than was the God of Genesis.
Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.
Virtue in women is perhaps a question of temperament.
Marriageable girls as well as mothers understand the terms and perils of the lottery called wedlock. That is why women weep at a wedding and men smile.