I have no room for love again--always provided that I have once loved.

Passion often has the honor of being confounded with the purer feeling, especially in the young.

Did I love that monster--for she is a monster, Antonino--I might forgive, for love excuses everything--that is true love, but it is rare as virtue--common sense and all that is truth.

To the altar of love, many are called, but few elected, and all are not fit.
"I see you are not convinced, because the dog that bit me is so shapely, and graceful and wears so silky a coat! Such dogs are mad and their bite in the heart is fatal and agonizing unless one at once applies the white hot cautery.

The seam remains--from time to time it aches--but the victim's life is saved that he may save, serve, gladden his fellow men.
Would you rather I should weep, or force a smile, and appear happy for a period?
In any case, since I have cured the injury and she is in my house again, I shall not retaliate on her.