The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.
A woman's chastity consists, like an onion, of a series of coats.
The inward pleasure of imparting pleasure - that is the choicest of all.
Oh, for the years I have not lived, but only dreamed of living.
Would Time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should all be young men, all of us, and until Doom's Day.
There is evil in every human heart, which may remain latent, perhaps, through the whole of life; but circumstances may rouse it to activity.