"I scorn your idea of love," I could not help saying, as I rose up…

I avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.

I feel that this also is true; but, dear Sir, is not the real experience of each individual very limited? And, if a writer dwells upon that solely or principally, is he not in danger of repeating himself, and also of becoming an egotist? …

Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour ... If at my convenience I might break them, what would be their worth?

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him …

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded

We wove a web in childhood, A web of sunny air; We dug a spring in infancy Of water pure and fair;We sowed in youth a mustard seed, We cut an almond rod; We are now grown up to riper age—