Occupation is one great source of enjoyment. No man, properly occupied, was ever miserable.
Habit is a second nature, and what was at first pleasure, is next necessity.
of all the follies that we can commit, the greatest is to hesitate.
Social life is filled with doubts and vain aspirings; solitude, when the imagination is dethroned, is turned to weariness and ennui.
Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of existence.
Anticipation is a bad sleeping draught.
A woman only can understand a woman.
Our first love-letter ... There is so much to be said, and which no words seems exactly to say - the dread of saying too much is so nicely balanced by the fear of saying too little. Hope borders on presumption, and fear on reproach.
Consistency is a human word, but it certainly expresses nothing human.
I do not think that life has a suspense more sickening than that of expecting a letter which does not come.
The truth is, we like to talk over our disasters, because they are ours; and others like to listen, because they are not theirs.
One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice - the severity of 'the ungentle craft' originates in its own want of success: they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over.
Delicious tears! The heart's own dew.
There is a large stock on hand; but somehow or other, nobody's experience ever suits us but our own.
Sneering springs out of the wish to deny; and wretched must that state of mind be that wishes to take refuge in doubt.
And this is woman's fate: all her affections are called into life by winning flatteries, and then thrown back upon themselves to perish; and her heart, her trusting heart, filled with weak tenderness, is left to bleed or break!
How often, in this cold and bitter world, is the warm heart thrown back upon itself! Cold, careless, are we of another's grief; we wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness.
Assuredly, meeting after absence, is one of - ah, no! - it is life's most delicious feeling.
A preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical.
The past is perpetual youth to the heart.
I have a respect for family pride. If it be a prejudice, it is a prejudice in its most picturesque shape. But I hold it is connected with some of the noblest feelings in our nature.
Hard are life's early steps; and but that youth is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, men would behold its threshold, and despair.
So much to win, so much to lose, No marvel that I fear to choose.
Oh, only those whose souls have felt this one idolatry can tell how precious is the slightest thing affection gives and hallows.
The dream on the pillow, That flits with the day, The leaf of the willow A breath wears away; The dust on the blossom, The spray on the sea; Ay,--ask thine own bosom-- Are emblems of thee.
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