Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour
     Pain is a cloak that wraps you about
     Patience is the pestilence
     People who can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season
     Profound belief in her partiality for him
     Question with some whether idiots should live
     Rarely exacted obedience, and she was spontaneously obeyed
     She thought that friendship was sweeter than love
     She was sick of personal freedom
     Simple obstinacy of will sustained her
     Speech was a scourge to her sense of hearing
     Taint of the hypocrisy which comes with shame
     The devil trusts nobody
     The divine afflatus of enthusiasm buoyed her no longer
     They take fever for strength, and calmness for submission
     Too weak to resist, to submit to an outrage quietly
     Too well used to defeat to believe readily in victory
     Was born on a hired bed
     Watch, and wait
     We are good friends till we quarrel again
     We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back
     Went into endless invalid’s laughter
     Who shrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubt
     Whole body of fanatics combined to precipitate the devotion
     Why should these men take so much killing? 
     Will not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinion
     Women and men are in two hostile camps
     You can master pain, but not doubt
     Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together