What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self!

The love of science to rival the love of woman, in its depth and absorbing energy.

Accuracy is twin brother to honesty, and inaccuracy to dishonesty.

Would Time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should all be young men, all of us, and until Doom's Day.

We must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest.

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.

Some attribute had departed from her, the permanence of which had been essential to keep her a woman. Such is frequently the fate, and such the stern development, of the feminine character and person, when the woman has encountered, and lived through, an experience of peculiar severity. If she be all tenderness, she will die. If she survive, the tenderness will either be crushed out of her, or—and the outward semblance is the same—crushed so deeply into her heart that it can never show itself more.