If he, in his greatness, goodness, and condescension, deigned to come and meet so poor a person as Dorothy Vernon, she would be thankful and happy; if he did not come, she would be sorrowful.

His will was her will, and she would come again and again until she should find him waiting for her, and he should stoop to lift her into heaven.
If there is a place in all the earth where red warm blood counts for its full value, it is in a pure woman's veins.

Through self-fear it brings to her a proud reserve toward all mankind till the right one comes.

Toward him it brings an eager humbleness that is the essence and the life of Heaven and of love.

Poets may praise snowy women as they will, but the compelling woman is she of the warm blood.