One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I'll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Society is smoothed to that excess, that manners hardly differ more than dress

Society is no one polished horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and the Bored

Every sense hath been o'erstrung, and each frail fibre of the brain sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide

Poetry should only occupy the idle

In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love

Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory: With memory excellent to get by rote, With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery, 'His country's pride,' he came down to

Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime; Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine - A sad, sour, sober beverage - by time Is s

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey