The world may know my words, but it has no such privileges with my heart
What are men to rocks and mountains?
To love is to burn, to be on fire.
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.
A lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always some talent in it.
The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.