She was the prettiest, silliest, most affected, husband-hunting butterfly ever.

We may admire people for being wise, but we like them best when they are foolish.

That bad letters of every kind arise from want of the habit of thinking, I cannot doubt.

A novel should be as like life as a painting, but not as like life as a piece of waxwork.

[On Elizabeth Barrett Browning:] ... for finish, and melody of versification, there is nothing approaching to Miss Barrett in this day, or in any other - also for diction. Her words paint.

... they know little of the passions who seek to argue with that most intractable of them all, the fear that is born of love.

There is no running away from a great grief.