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

It is strange what society will endure from its idols.

In sad truth, half our forebodings of our neighbors are but our own wishes, which we are ashamed to utter in any other form.

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.

youth, balancing itself upon hope, is forever in extremes: its expectations are continually aroused only to be baffled, and disappointment, like a summer shower, is violent in proportion to its brevity.

An apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence.

A preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical.