If there be any one habit which more than another is the dry rot of all that is high and generous in youth, it is the habit of ridicule.

There are words to paint the misery of love, but none to paint its happiness.

The truth is, we never make for others the allowance we make for ourselves; and we should deny even our own words, could we hear them spoken by another.

How very satisfactory those discussions must be, where each party retains their own opinion!

Strange mystery of our nature, that those in whom genius develops itself in imagination, thus taking its most ethereal form, should yet be the most dependent on the opinions of others!

A woman only can understand a woman.

It is said that ridicule is the test of truth; but it is never applied except when we wish to deceive ourselves - when if we cannot exclude the light, we would fain draw the curtain before it. The sneer springs out of the wish to deny; and wretched must that state of mind be, that wishes to take refuge in doubt.