“Take my advice,” said she. “Never mind love. After all, what is it? The dream of a few weeks. That is all its joy. The disappointment of a life is its Nemesis. Who was ever successful in true love? Success in love argues that the love is false. True love is always despondent or tragical. Juliet loved, Haidee loved. Dido loved, and what came of it? Troilus loved and ceased to be a man.”
“Troilus loved and was fooled,” said the more manly chaplain. “A man may love and yet not be a Troilus. All women are not Cressids.”
“No; all women are not Cressids. The falsehood is not always on the woman’s side. Imogen was true, but how was she rewarded? Her lord believed her to be the paramour of the first he who came near her in his absence. Desdemona was true and was smothered. Ophelia was true and went mad. There is no happiness in love, except at the end of an English novel. But in wealth, money, houses, lands, goods and chattels, in the good things of this world, yes, in them there is something tangible, something that can be retained and enjoyed.”
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Slope, feeling himself bound to enter some protest against so very unorthodox a doctrine, “this world’s wealth will make no one happy.”
“And what will make you happy — you — you?” said she, raising herself up, and speaking to him with energy across the table. “From what source do you look for happiness? Do not say that you look for none? I shall not believe you. It is a search in which every human being spends an existence.”
(Anthony Trollope, Barchester Towers. London: J.M. Dent & Co., 1906, pp. 229–230).