Jealousy ought to be tragic, to save it from being ridiculous.

Whenever I hear a man talking of the advantages of our ill-used sex, I look upon it as the prelude to some new act of authority.

How often, in this cold and bitter world, is the warm heart thrown back upon itself! Cold, careless, are we of another's grief; we wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness.

A friend is never alarmed for us in the right place.

The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.

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

We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse.