The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.

“Only a novel”… in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.

Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

In every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.