breath
     If I’m struck, I strike back
     If he had valued you half a grain less, he might have won you
     Inclined to act hesitation in accepting the aid she sought
     Inducement to act the hypocrite before the hypocrite world
     Infatuated men argue likewise, and scandal does not move them
     Insistency upon there being two sides to a case—­to every case
     Intrusion of the spontaneous on the stereotyped would clash
     Irony that seemed to spring from aversion
     It is the best of signs when women take to her
     It is the devil’s masterstroke to get us to accuse him
     Its glee at a catastrophe; its poor stock of mercy
     Keep passion sober, a trotter in harness
     Lengthened term of peace bred maggots in the heads of the people
     Let never Necessity draw the bow of our weakness
     Literature is a good stick and a bad horse
     Loathing for speculation
     Mare would do, and better than a dozen horses
     Material good reverses its benefits the more nearly we clasp it
     Matter that is not nourishing to brains
     Mistake of the world is to think happiness possible to the sense
     Mistaking of her desires for her reasons
     Money is of course a rough test of virtue
     Moral indignation is ever consolatory
     Music was resumed to confuse the hearing of the eavesdroppers
     Mutual deference
     Needed support of facts, and feared them
     Never fell far short of outstripping the sturdy pedestrian Time
     Nothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit by
     Nothing is a secret that has been spoken
     Now far from him under the failure of an effort to come near
     O self! self! self! 
     Observation is the most, enduring of the pleasures of life
     Omnipotence, which is in the image of themselves
     One might build up a respectable figure in negatives
     Openly treated; all had an air of being on the surface
     Or where you will, so that’s in Ireland
     Our weakness is the swiftest dog to hunt us
     Our bravest, our best, have an impulse to run
     Owner of such a woman, and to lose her! 
     Paint themselves pure white, to the obliteration of minor spots
     Perused it, and did not recognize herself in her language
     Pride in being always myself
     Procrastination and excessive scrupulousness
     Question the gain of such an expenditure of energy
     Quixottry is agreeable reading, a silly performance
     Rare men of honour who can command their passion
     Read with his eyes when you meet him this morning
     Read deep and not be baffled by inconsistencies
     Real happiness is a state of dulness
     Reluctant to take the life of flowers for a whim
     Rewards, together with the expectations, of the virtuous
     Salt of earth, to whom their salt must serve for nourishment