What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart. What jailer so inexorable as one's self? -Nathaniel Hawthorne.

In the depths of every heart, there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and revelry above may cause us to forget their existence, and the buried ones, or prisoners whom they hide. But sometimes, and oftenest at midnight, those dark receptacles are flung wide open. In an hour like this, when the mind has a passive sensibility, but no active strength; when the imagination is a mirror, imparting vividness to all ideas, without the power of selecting or controlling them; then pray that your grieves may slumber, and the brotherhood of remorse not break their chain.

What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self !

The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!

My heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill, and without a household fire. I longed to kindle one! It seemed not so wild a dream . . .