Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much...

First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of curiosity: no really self-respecting woman would take advantage of it.

One would always want to think of oneself as being on the side of love, ready to recognize it and wish it well --but, when confronted with it in others, one so often resented it, questioned its true nature, secretly dismissed the particular instance as folly or promiscuity. Was it merely jealousy, or a reluctance to admit so noble and enviable a sentiment in anyone but oneself ?   Love is the great miracle cure. Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives