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.
Mary Elizabeth BraddonA modern writer likens coquettes to those hunters who do not eat the game which they have successfully pursued.
Mary Elizabeth BraddonSelf-assertion may deceive the ignorant for a time; but when the noise dies away, we cut open the drum, and find it was emptiness that made the music.
Mary Elizabeth Braddon