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.

A girl fresh from a boarding school may perhaps be a virgin but no! she is never chaste.

Love, according to our contemporary poets, is a privilege which two beings confer upon one another, whereby they may mutually cause one another much sorrow over absolutely nothing.

To get a traveling salesman drunk is the height of impossibility.

Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation.

The happier a man, the more apt he is to tremble. In hearts exclusively tender, anxiety and jealousy are in exact proportion to happiness.

When there is an old maid in the house, a watchdog is unnecessary.