A man must have something to grumble about; and if he cant complain that his wife harries him to death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears him out with her kindness and gentleness.
What business had I to think of one that never thought of me?
I began this book with the intention of concealing nothing, that those who liked might have the benefit of perusing a fellow creature’s heart: but we have some thoughts that all the angels in heaven are welcome to behold – but not our brother-men – not even the best and kindest amongst them.
The ties that bind us to life are tougher than you imagine, or than any one can who has not felt how roughly they may be pulled without breaking.
How odd it is that we so often weep for each other’s distresses, when we shed not a tear for our own!
It is a hard, embittering thing to have one’s kind feelings and good intentions cast back in one’s teeth.
Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship.
You might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry man you dislike.
I am truly miserable – more so than I like to acknowledge to myself. Pride refuses to aid me. It has brought me into the scrape, and will not help me out of it.
It is painful to doubt the sincerity of those we love.
Life and hope must cease together.
To wheedle and coax is safer than to command.
I had been seasoned by adversity, and tutored by experience, and I longed to redeem my lost honour in the eyes of those whose opinion was more than that of all the world to me.
Chess-players are so unsociable, they are no company for any but themselves.
Thank heaven, I am free and safe at last!
No generous mind delights to oppress the weak, but rather to cherish and protect.
Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.
There’s nothing like active employment, I suppose, to console the afflicted.
Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is mutual, and pure as that will be.
There is always a but in this imperfect world.
Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, If Heaven be so severe, That such a soul as thine is lost, Oh! how shall I appear?