The fruition of what is unlawful must be followed by remorse. The core sticks in the throat after the apple is eaten, and the sated appetite loathes the interdicted pleasure for which innocence was bartered.

The doubts of love are never to be wholly overcome; they grow with its various anxieties, timidities, and tenderness, and are the very fruits of the reverence in which the admired object is beheld.

That grief is the most durable which flows inward, and buries its streams with its fountain, in the depths of the heart.

The only impregnable citadel of virtue is religion; for there is no bulwark of mere morality, which some temptation may not overtop or undermine, and destroy.

When the cup of any sensual pleasure is drained to the bottom, there is always poison in the dregs.

Yet happiness isn't something you chase, it's something you are. It's something you think, it's something you believe.

Bright was the summer of 1296. The war which had desolated Scotland was then at an end.