She could no longer borrow from the future to ease her present grief.
What, in the name of common-sense, had I to do with any better society than I had always lived in?
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.
Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!
A grave, wherever found, preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.
it is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom.