Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.
There is something great and terrible about suicide.
Love based upon money and vanity forms the most stubborn of passions.
Love is perhaps no more than gratitude for pleasure.
A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.
Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.