My intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity.

love is so very subtle an essence, such an indefinable metaphysical marvel, that its due force, though very cruelly felt by the sufferer himself, is never clearly understood by those who look on at its torments and wonder why he takes the common fever so badly.

The strongest proof of repentance is the endeavor to atone.

Amiability is the redeeming quality of fools.

Paris is a mighty schoolmaster, a grand enlightener of the provincial intellect.

My intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity.

Why is it so difficult to love wisely, so easy to love too well?