Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice. - Charlotte Brontë

A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play;

Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agised as in that hour left my lips: for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.

Human beings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects
of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a
faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now
to remember with what absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy, half
fancying it alive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it was
folded in my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I was
comparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.