All amusements to which virtuous women are not admitted, are, rely upon it, deleterious in their nature.

How hard it is to make an Englishman acknowledge that he is happy! Pendennis. Book ii. Chap. xxxi.

Humor is wit and love.

One tires of a page of which every sentence sparkles with points, of a sentimentalist who is always pumping the tears from his eyes or your own.

Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and make darlings of their ugliest thoughts.

Despair is perfectly compatible with a good dinner, I promise you.

Come children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.