I never knew before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with Pleasures.

My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.

To the very last, he [Napoleon] had a kind of idea; that, namely, of la carrière ouverte aux talents, - the tools to him that can handle them.

And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.

You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.

one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another

Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?