love, which is a madness, and a scourge, and a fever, and a delusion, and a snare, is also a mystery, and very imperfectly understood by everyone except the individual sufferer who writhes under its tortures. Mary Elizabeth Braddon More Quotes by Mary Elizabeth Braddon More Quotes From Mary Elizabeth Braddon How chronic is the unconcern of men and women of the world! Mary Elizabeth Braddon indifference men world London's like a forest ... we shall be lost in it. Mary Elizabeth Braddon london lost forests Paris is a mighty schoolmaster, a grand enlightener of the provincial intellect. Mary Elizabeth Braddon intellect paris