love, which is a madness, and a scourge, and a fever, and a delusion, and a snare, is also a mystery, and very imperfectly understood by everyone except the individual sufferer who writhes under its tortures. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
Life is such a very troublesome matter, when all is said and done, that it's as well even to take its blessings quietly. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
“And thus they form a perfect group; he walks back two or three paces, selects his point of sight, and begins to sketch a… — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
“He was a square, pale-faced man of almost forty, and had the appearance of having outlived every emotion to which humanity is subject.” — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
My intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
A priest can achieve great victories with an army of women at his command. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
A modern writer likens coquettes to those hunters who do not eat the game which they have successfully pursued. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
“You seem to have quite a taste for discussing these horrible subjects," she said, rather scornfully; "you ought to have been a detective police… — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
Exceptional talent does not always win its reward unless favored by exceptional circumstances. — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
Why, I can't help smiling at people, and speaking prettily to them. I know I'm no better than the rest of the world; but… — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
“He forgot that love, which is a madness, and a scourge, and a fever, and a delusion, and a snare, is also a mystery,… — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
Why is it so difficult to love wisely, so easy to love too well? — Mary Elizabeth Braddon Copy Share Image
