There Is Always A But In This

Adieu! But Let Me Cherish, Still, The Hope With Which I Cannot Part. Contempt May Wound, And Coldness Chill, But Still It Lingers In My Heart. And Who Can Tell But Heaven, At Last, May Answer All My Thousand Prayers, And Bid The Future Pay The Past With Joy For Anguish, Smiles For Tears?

[preface To Second Edition:] ... I Am Satisfied That If A Book Is A Good One, It Is So Whatever The Sex Of The Author May Be.

A Little Girl Loves Her Bird--why? Because It Lives And Feels; Because It Is Helpless And Harmless? A Toad, Likewise, Lives And Feels, And Is Equally Helpless And Harmless; But Though She Would Not Hurt A Toad, She Cannot Love It Like The Bird, With Its Graceful Form, Soft Feathers, And Bright, Speaking Eyes.

I Cannot Love A Man Who Cannot Protect Me.

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.