A man never discloses his own character so clearly as when he describes anothers.

Repetition is the mother of education.

A loving maiden grows unconsciously more bold.

I would rather dwell in the dim fog of superstition than in air rarefied to nothing by the air-pump of unbelief-in which the panting breast expires, vainly and convulsively gasping for breath.

Sorrows are like thunderclouds, in the distance they look black, over our heads scarcely gray.

Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.

Woman and men of retiring timidity are cowardly only in dangers which affect themselves, but the first to rescue when others are in danger.