How many degrees from love gratitude may be
     I ’m a bachelor, and a person—­you’re married, and an object
     I cannot live a life of deceit.  A life of misery—­not deceit
     I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler’s stall
     I always wait for a thing to happen first
     I never see anything, my dear
     I did, replied Evan.  ‘I told a lie.’ 
     I’ll come as straight as I can
     If we are to please you rightly, always allow us to play First
     If I love you, need you care what anybody else thinks
     In truth she sighed to feel as he did, above everybody
     Incapable of putting the screw upon weak excited nature
     Informed him that he never played jokes with money, or on men
     Is he jealous?  ‘Only when I make him, he is.’ 
     It ’s us hard ones that get on best in the world
     It is better for us both, of course
     It was in a time before our joyful era of universal equality
     It is no insignificant contest when love has to crush self-love
     It’s no use trying to be a gentleman if you can’t pay for it
     It’s a fool that hopes for peace anywhere
     Lay no petty traps for opportunity
     Listened to one another, and blinded the world
     Looked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amount
     Love is a contagious disease
     Make no effort to amuse him.  He is always occupied
     Man without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of pride
     Married a wealthy manufacturer—­bartered her blood for his money
     Maxims of her own on the subject of rising and getting the worm
     Men they regard as their natural prey
     Men do not play truant from home at sixty years of age
     Most youths are like Pope’s women; they have no character
     My belief is, you do it on purpose.  Can’t be such rank idiots
     Never intended that we should play with flesh and blood
     Never to despise the good opinion of the nonentities
     No great harm done when you’re silent
     No conversation coming of it, her curiosity was violent
     Notoriously been above the honours of grammar
     Occasional instalments—­just to freshen the account
     Oh!  I can’t bear that class of people
     One fool makes many, and so, no doubt, does one goose
     One seed of a piece of folly will lurk and sprout to confound us
     Our comedies are frequently youth’s tragedies
     Partake of a morning draught
     Patronizing woman
     Play second fiddle without looking foolish
     Pride is the God of Pagans
     Propitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurd
     Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he does
     Read one another perfectly in their mutual hypocrisies
     Rebukes which give immeasurable rebounds
     Recalling her to the subject-matter with all the patience