Half designingly permitted her trouble to be seen
     Half a dozen dozen left
     Happy the woman who has not more to speak
     Hard to bear, at times unbearable
     Haremed opinion of the unfitness of women
     He sinks terribly when he sinks at all
     He never acknowledged a trouble, he dispersed it
     He never explained
     He neared her, wooing her; and she assented
     He prattled, in the happy ignorance of compulsion
     Heathen vindictiveness declaring itself holy
     Honest creatures who will not accept a lift from fiction
     How little we mean to do harm when we do an injury
     How Success derides Ambition! 
     If only been intellectually a little flexible in his morality
     If we are robbed, we ask, How came we by the goods? 
     If we are really for Nature, we are not lawless
     In the pay of our doctors
     In bottle if not on draught (oratory)
     Intrusion of hard material statements, facts
     Judgeing of the destiny of man by the fate of individuals
     Kelts, as they are called, can’t and won’t forgive injuries
     Let but the throb be kept for others—­That is the one secret
     Love must needs be an egoism
     Man with a material object in aim, is the man of his object
     Memory inspired by the sensations
     Nation’s half made-up of the idle and the servants of the idle
     Naturally as deceived as he wished to be
     Nature and Law never agreed
     Nature could at a push be eloquent to defend the guilty
     Nature’s logic, Nature’s voice, for self-defence
     Next door to the Last Trump
     No companionship save with the wound they nurse
     Not to go hunting and fawning for alliances
     Not always the right thing to do the right thing
     Obeseness is the most sensitive of our ailments
     Official wrath at sound of footfall or a fancied one
     Once out of the rutted line, you are food for lion and jackal
     One wants a little animation in a husband
     Optional marriages, broken or renewed every seven years
     People of a provocative prosperity
     Pessimy is invulnerable
     Portrait of himself by the artist
     Put into her woman’s harness of the bit and the blinkers
     Repeatedly, in contempt of the disgust of iteration
     Satirist is an executioner by profession
     Satirist too devotedly loves his lash to be a persuasive teacher
     Self-deceiver may be a persuasive deceiver of another
     Semblance of a tombstone lady beside her lord
     Share of foulness to them that are for scouring the chamber
     She was not his match—­To speak would be to succumb
     She disdained to question the mouth which had bitten her
     Slap and pinch and starve our appetites
     Slave of existing conventions
     Smallest of our gratifications in life could give a happy tone