My heart is its own grave!

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

habit is our idea of eternity.

In our road through life we may happen to meet with a man casting a stone reverentially to enlarge the cairn of another which stone he has carried in his bosom to sling against that very other's head.

Whatever people in general do not understand, they are al ways prepared to dislike; the incomprehensible is always the obnoxious.

Few save the poor feel for the poor.

Affection exaggerates its own offenses.