Feeling loves a subdued light.

Love sometimes elevates, creates new qualities, suspends the working of evil inclinations; but only for a day. Love, then, is an Oriental despot, whose glance lifts a slave from the dust, and then consigns him to it again.

When any one tells you that he belongs to no party, you may at any rate be sure that he does not belong to yours.

We are amused through the intellect, but it is the heart that saves us from ennui.

Friendship is like those ancient altars where the unhappy, and even the guilty, found a sure asylum.

In youth, grief comes with a rush and overflow, but it dries up, too, like the torrent. In the winter of life it remains a miserable pool, resisting all evaporation.

There is, by God's grace, an immeasurable distance between late and too late.