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

Curiosity is its own suicide.

Oh, only those whose souls have felt this one idolatry can tell how precious is the slightest thing affection gives and hallows.

What is life? A gulf of troubled waters, where the soul, like a vexed bark, is tossed upon the waves of pain and pleasure by the wavering breath of passions.

The fearless make their own way.

A woman's fame is the tomb of her happiness.

Nothing is so fortunate for mankind as its diversity of opinion.