Women accept their destiny more readily than men.

To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.

Of love it may be said, the less earthly the less demonstrative. In its absolutely indestructible form it reaches a profundity in which all exhibition of itself is painful.

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.

Don't think of what's past!" said she. "I am not going to think outside of now. Why should we! Who knows what tomorrow has in store?

So do flux and reflux--the rhythm of change--alternate and persist in everything under the sky.

This hobble of being alive is rather serious, don’t you think so?