Love, like virtue, is its own reward.

Custom is the law of fools.

A slighted woman knows no bounds.

Love's like virtue, its own reward.

You may build castles in the air, and fume, and fret, and grow thin and lean, and pale and ugly, if you please. But I tell you, no man worth having is true to his wife, or can be true to his wife, or ever was, or will be so.

Good manners and soft words have brought many a difficult thing to pass.

True virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsic worth about it.