Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than

...our Impulses Are Too Strong For Our Judgement Sometimes

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.

A Novel Is An Impression, Not An Argument; And There The Matter Must Rest.

He Wished She Knew His Impressions; But He Would As Soon Have Thought Of Carrying An Odour In A Net As Of Attempting To Convey The Intangibilities Of His Feeling In The Coarse Meshes Of Language. So He Remained Silent.

Everybody Is So Talented Nowadays That The Only People I Care To Honor As Deserving Real Distinction Are Those Who Remain In Obscurity.