Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction.
The busy have no time for tears.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Friendship is Love without his wings!
The heart will break, but broken live on.
Truth is always strange.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.
Who loves, raves.
Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.
If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears.
I stood / Among them, but not of them; in a shroud / Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in a masquerade.
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes Sin's a pleasure.
Romances I never read like those I have seen.
Joy's recollection is no longer joy, while sorrow's memory is sorrow still.