There is indeed one element in human destiny that not blindness itself can controvert: whatever else we are intended to do, we are not intended to succeed; failure is the fate allotted. It is so in every art and study; it is so above all in the continent art of living well.

But even if we take matrimony at its lowest, even if we regard it as no more than a sort of friendship recognized by the police, there must be degrees in the freedom and sympathy realized, and some principle to guide simple folk in their selection.

Some places speak distinctly. Certain dark gardens cry aloud for a murder; certain old houses demand to be haunted; certain coasts are set apart for shipwreck.

Jealousy is the most radical primeval and naked form of admiration in war paint, so to speak.

Some people swallow the universe like a pill; they travel on through the world, like smiling images pushed from behind.

You cannot run away from weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?

A hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death they say, though I could never hear of any that came back to say so.