But who wants to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it comes, without our having the misery of knowing about it beforehand.

There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one.

Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it.

Weather in towns is like a skylark in a counting-house-out of place and in the way.

Time is but the shadow of the world upon the background of Eternity.

I can see the humorous side of things and enjoy the fun when it comes; but look where I will, there seems to me always more sadness than joy in life.

We like, we cherish, we are very, very fond of—but we never love again.