Who was the blundering idiot who said 'fine words butter no parsnips'? Half the parsnips of society are served and rendered palatable with no other sauce.

An immense percentage of snobs, I believe, is to be found in every rank of this mortal life.

Who feels injustice, who shrinks before a slight, who has a sense of wrong so acute, and so glowing a gratitude for kindness, as a generous boy?

Life is soul's nursery- its training place for the destinies of eternity.

To be beautiful is enough! if a woman can do that well who should demand more from her? You don't want a rose to sing.

The moral world has no particular objection to vice, but an insuperable repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name.

She lived in her past life — every letter seemed to recall some circumstance of it. How well she remembered them all! His looks and tones, his dress, what he said and how — these relics and remembrances of dead affection were all that were left her in the world.