Men outlive their love, but they don’t outlive the consequences of their recklessness.
Men and women are but children of a larger growth.
Marriage must be a relation either of sympathy or of conquest.
Many an irritating fault, many an unlovely oddity, has come of a hard sorrow.
Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves.
Little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty.
Life was so complicated a game that the devices of skill were liable to be defeated at every turn by air-blown chances, incalculable as the descent of thistle-down.
Life was never anything but a perpetual see-saw between gravity and jest.
Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.
Life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face.
Learning to love any one is like an increase of property – it increases care, and brings many new fears lest precious things should come to harm.
Knowledge slowly builds up what ignorance in an hour pulls down.
