... perhaps there is no conceit so arrogant as the conceit which follows a conviction of emancipation.

the blue and cloudless day closes like the lid of a casket of jewels upon the violet rim of sea, and shuts out the light.

Grief is the price Love pays for being in the same world with Death.

When it comes to bombshells, there are few that can be more effective than that small, flat, frail thing, a letter.

... Love never forgets; or if it does, it is an imperfect love, like the beautiful love of a dog, faithful and unreasoning.

To talk over a quarrel, with its inevitable accompaniment of self-justification, is too much like handling cobwebs to be very successful.

There isn't any virtue where there has never been any temptation.