Society proceeds like the ocean. After a disaster, it resume its wonted level and rhythms; its devouring interests efface all traces of damage.

A letter is a soul, so faithful an echo of the speaking voice that to the sensitive it is among the richest treasures of love.

The endless legacy of the past to the present is the secret source of human genius.

Ah! the soft starlight of virgin eyes.

There are no little events with the heart. It magnifies everything; it places in the same scales the fall of an empire of fourteen years and the dropping of a woman's glove, and almost always the glove weighs more than the empire.

Suffering predisposes the mind to devoutness; and most young girls, prompted by instinctive tenderness, lean towards mysticism, the obscurer side of religion.

Few men are raised in our estimation by being too closely examined.