Hope is love's happiness, but not its life.

Imagination is to love what gas is to the balloon-that which raises it from earth.

I do love violets; they tell the history of woman's love.

Truly, a little love-making is a very pleasant thing.

Perhaps, from an innate desire of justification, sorrow always exaggerates itself. Memory is quite one of Job's friends; and the past is ever ready to throw its added darkness on the present.

When does the mind put forth its powers? when are the stores of memory unlocked? when does wit 'flash from fluent lips?' -- when but after a good dinner? Who will deny its influence on the affections? Half our friends are born of turbots and truffles.

Fame is bought by happiness.