I have been used to consider poetry as "the food of love" said Darcy. "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.

Why not seize the pleasure at once? -- How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!

The publicis rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not.

Arguments are too much like disputes.

Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

Everybody's heart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health.

It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was ten years before.