Once let a maiden admit the possibility of her being stricken with love for some one at a certain hour and place, and the thing is as good as done.

It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.

There are disappointments which wring us, and there are those which inflict a wound whose mark we bear to our graves. Such are so keen that no future gratification of the same desire can ever obliterate them: they become registered as a permanent loss of happiness.

It may have been observed that there is no regular path for getting out of love as there is for getting in. Some people look upon marriage as a short cut that way, but it has been known to fail.

Give the enemy not only a road for flight, but also a means of defending it.

So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in; some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.