Women accept their destiny more readily than men.

Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not.

Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks.

They spoke very little of their mutual feeling; pretty phrases and warm expressions being probably unnecessary between such tried friends.

My wicked heart will ramble on in spite of myself. (Arabella)

That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.

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.