Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

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

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

Lovers may be - and indeed generally are - enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.