Nobody has any conscience about adding to the improbabilities of a marvelous tale.

What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow.

There is an alchemy of quiet malice by which women can concoct a subtle poison from ordinary trifles.

To-morrow would bring its own trial with it; so would the next day, and so would the next; each its own trial, and yet the very same that was now so unutterably grievous to be borne. The days of the far-off future would toil onward, still with the same burden for her to take up, and bear along with her, but never to fling down; for the accumulating days, and added years, would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame.

The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may not be going to prove one's self a fool; the truest heroism is to resist the doubt; and the profoundest wisdom, to know when it ought to be resisted, and when it be obeyed.

it is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom.

Keep the imagination sane--that is one of the truest conditions of communion with heaven.