Muddy draught which impudently affected to be coffee
    Nervous woes of comfortable people
    Never-blooming shrub
    Never could have an emotion without desiring to analyze it
    Night so bad that it was worse than no night at all
    No man deserves to sufer at the hands of another
    No longer the gross appetite for novelty
    No right to burden our friends with our decisions
    Not do to be perfectly frank with one’s own country
    Nothing so apt to end in mutual dislike,—­except gratitude
    Nothing so sad to her as a bride, unless it’s a young mother
    Novelists, who really have the charge of people’s thinking
    Oblivion of sleep
    Offence which any difference of taste was apt to give him
    Only so much clothing as the law compelled
    Only one of them was to be desperate at a time
    Our age caricatures our youth
    Parkman
    Passionate desire for excess in a bad thing
    Patience with mediocrity putting on the style of genius
    Patronizing spirit of travellers in a foreign country
    People that have convictions are difficult
    Person talks about taking lessons, as if they could learn it
    Poverty as hopeless as any in the world
    Prices fixed by his remorse
    Puddles of the paths were drying up with the haste
    Race seemed so often without philosophy
    Recipes for dishes and diseases
    Reckless and culpable optimism
    Reconciliation with death which nature brings to life at last
    Rejoice in everything that I haven’t done
    Rejoice as much at a non-marriage as a marriage
    Repeated the nothings they had said already
    Respect for your mind, but she don’t think you’ve got any sense
    Say when he is gone that the woman gets along better without him
    Seemed the last phase of a world presently to be destroyed
    Seeming interested in points necessarily indifferent to him
    Self-sufficiency, without its vulgarity
    Self-sacrifice which could be had, as it were, at a bargain
    Servant of those he loved
    She always came to his defence when he accused himself
    She cares for him:  that she was so cold shows that
    She could bear his sympathy, but not its expression
    Shouldn’t ca’ fo’ the disgrace of bein’ poo’—­its inconvenience
    Sigh with which ladies recognize one another’s martyrdom
    So hard to give up doing anything we have meant to do
    So old a world and groping still
    Society:  All its favors are really bargains
    Sorry he hadn’t asked more; that’s human nature
    Suffering under the drip-drip of his innocent egotism
    Superstition that having and shining is the chief good
    Superstition of the romances that love is once for all
    That isn’t very old—­or not so old as it used to be
    The knowledge of your helplessness in any circumstances