he liked bounds
   Not much patience with the unmanly craving for sympathy
   Not much of a talker, and almost nothing of a story-teller
   Not possible for Clemens to write like anybody else
   Now death has come to join its vague conjectures
   NYC, a city where money counts for more and goes for less
   Odious hilarity, without meaning and without remission
   Offers mortifyingly mean, and others insultingly vague
   Old man’s tendency to revert to the past
   Old man’s disposition to speak of his infirmities
   One could be openly poor in Cambridge without open shame
   Only one concerned who was quite unconcerned
   Ought not to call coarse without calling one’s self prudish
   Pathos of revolt from the colorless rigidities
   Person who wished to talk when he could listen
   Plain-speaking or Rude Speaking
   Pointed the moral in all they did
   Polite learning hesitated his praise
   Praised it enough to satisfy the author
   Praised extravagantly, and in the wrong place
   Put your finger on the present moment and enjoy it
   Quarrel was with error, and not with the persons who were in it
   Quebec was a bit of the seventeenth century
   Reformers, who are so often tedious and ridiculous
   Remember the dinner-bell
   Reparation due from every white to every black man
   Secret of the man who is universally interesting
   Seen through the wrong end of the telescope
   Shackles of belief worn so long
   Shy of his fellow-men, as the scholar seems always to be
   So refined, after the gigantic coarseness of California
   Some superstition, usually of a hygienic sort
   Sometimes they sacrificed the song to the sermon
   Sought the things that he could agree with you upon
   Spare his years the fatigue of recalling your identity
   Standards were their own, and they were satisfied with them
   Stoddard
   Study in a corner by the porch
   Stupidly truthful
   The world is well lost whenever the world is wrong
   The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it
   Things common to all, however peculiar in each
   Thoreau
   Those who have sorrowed deepest will understand this best
   Times when a man’s city was a man’s country
   Tired themselves out in trying to catch up with him
   True to an ideal of life rather than to life itself
   Truthful
   Turn of the talk toward the mystical
   Used to ingratitude from those he helped
   Vacuous vulgarity of its texts
   Visited one of the great mills
   Walter-Scotticized, pseudo-chivalry of the Southern ideal
   Wasted face, and his gay eyes had the death-look
   We have never ended before, and we do not see how we can end
   Welcome me, and make the least of my shyness and strangeness
   Well, if you are to be lost, I want to be lost with you
   What he had done he owned to, good,