A woman in love has full intelligence of her power; the more virtuous she is, the more effective her coquetry.

If the human heart sometimes finds moments of pause as it ascends the slopes of affection, it rarely halts on the way down.

Towns find it as hard as houses of business to rise again from ruin.

The weakest being on earth can accomplish feats of strength. The frailest urchin will ring every doorbell on the street in arctic weather or hoist himself aloft to inscribe his name on a virgin monument.

Who is to decide which is the grimmer sight: withered hearts, or empty skulls?

Everything becomes agitated. Ideas quick-march into motion like battalions of a grand army to its legendary fighting ground, and the battle rages. Memories charge in, bright flags on high; the cavalry of metaphor deploys with a magnificent gallop; the artillery of logic rushes up with clattering wagons and cartridges; on imagination's orders, sharpshooters sight and fire; forms and shapes and characters rear up; the paper is spread with ink - for the nightly labor begins and ends with torrents of this black water, as a battle opens and concludes with black powder.

The errors of women spring, almost always, from their faith in the good, or their confidence in the true