Jealousy, an eminently credulous and suspicious passion, allows fancy the greatest possible play. But it does not bestow wit, it banishes all sense.
Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine.
No navigator has yet traced lines of latitude and longitude on the conjugal sea.
The union of a want and a sentiment.
In the first woman we love, we love everything. Growing older, we love the woman only.
Some troubles, like a protested note of a solvent debtor, bear interest.