If there ever comes a time when the women of the world come together purely and simply for the benefit of mankind, it will be a force such as the world has never known.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

The brave, impetuous heart yields everywhere to the subtle, contriving head.

The heart less bounding at emotion new, The hope, once crushed, less quick to spring again.

The nice sense of measure is certainly not one of Nature's gifts to her English children ... we have all of us yielded to infatuation at some moment of our lives.

Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.