Modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues.

Friendship is made up of esteem and pleasure; pity is composed of sorrow and contempt: the mind may for some time fluctuate between them, but it can never entertain both at once.

The nakedness of the indigent world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain.

No one but a fool would measure their satisfaction by what the world thinks of it.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

All that a husband or wife really wants is to be pitied a little, praised a little, and appreciated a little.

When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?