Conscience is doubtless sufficient to conduct the coldest character into the road of virtue; but enthusiasm is to conscience what honor is to duty; there is in us a superfluity of soul, which it is sweet to consecrate to the beautiful when the good has been accomplished.

The greater part of what women write about women is mere sycophancy to man.

Unhappy love freezes all our affections: our own souls grow inexplicable to us. More than we gained while we were happy we lose by the reverse.

As we grow in wisdom, we pardon more freely.

We cease loving ourselves if no one loves us.

I am glad that I am not a man, for then I should have to marry a woman.

Have you not observed that faith is generally strongest in those whose character may be called the weakest?