Affection exaggerates its own offenses.

Social life is filled with doubts and vain aspirings; solitude, when the imagination is dethroned, is turned to weariness and ennui.

And this is woman's fate: all her affections are called into life by winning flatteries, and then thrown back upon themselves to perish; and her heart, her trusting heart, filled with weak tenderness, is left to bleed or break!

Confidence is its own security.

Praise is sometimes a good thing for the diffident and the despondent. It teaches them properly to rely on the kindness of others.

Farewell's a bitter word to say.

though fortune's wheel is generally on the turn, sometimes when it gets into the mud, it sticks there.