She said it was beautiful to be loved, and that it made everything on earth look brighter.
Love is a farce; matrimony is a humbug; husbands are domestic Napoleons, Neroes, Alexanders, – sighing for other hearts to conquer, after they are sure of yours.
I am convinced that there are times in everybody’s experience when there is so much to be done, that the only way to do it is to sit down and do nothing.
What a pity when editors review a woman’s book, that they so often fall into the error of reviewing the woman instead.
Our domestic Napoleons, too many of them, give flattery, bonnets and bracelets to women, and everything else but – justice...
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
Hoary-headed old Winter, I have had enough of you!
Show me an ‘easy person,’ and I will show you a selfish one. Good-natured he may be; why not? since the disastrous consequences of his ‘easiness’ are generally shouldered by other people.
How strong sometimes is weakness!
Never ask a favor until you are drawing your last breath; and never forget one.
I am getting sick of people. I am falling in love with things. They hold their tongues...
To her, the name of father was another name for love.
Uncles and aunts, and cousins, are all very well, and fathers and mothers are not to be despised; but a grandmother, at holiday time, is worth them all.
The term ‘lady’ has been so misused, that I like better the old-fashioned term, woman.
I hate the word proper. If you tell me a thing is not proper, I immediately feel the most rabid desire to go ‘neck and heels’ into it.
Well, it is a humiliating reflection, that the straightest road to a man’s heart is through his palate.
Too much indulgence has ruined thousands of children; too much love not one.
Advice is like a doctor’s pills; how easily he gives them! how reluctantly he takes them when his turn comes!