Ideas in gestation are the dullest matter you can have
     Injury forbids us to be friends again
     Innocence and uncleanness may go together
     It was an honest buss, but dear at ten thousand
     Lies are usurers’ coin we pay for ten thousand per cent
     Life is the burlesque of young dreams
     Limit was two bottles of port wine at a sitting
     Little boy named Tommy Wedger said he saw a dead body go by
     Look backward only to correct an error of conduct in future
     Love of pleasure keeps us blind children
     Magnificent in generosity; he had little humaneness
     Make a girl drink her tears, if they ain’t to be let fall
     Meditations upon the errors of the general man, as a cover
     Mighty Highnesses who had only smelt the outside edge of battle
     Never forgave an injury without a return blow for it
     No enemy’s shot is equal to a weak heart in the act
     Not afford to lose, and a disposition free of the craving to win
     Not to be the idol, to have an aim of our own
     Objects elevated even by a decayed world have their magnetism
     On a morning when day and night were made one by fog
     One idea is a bullet
     Past, future, and present, the three weights upon humanity
     Pebble may roll where it likes—­not so the costly jewel
     Poetic romance is delusion
     Push me to condense my thoughts to a tight ball
     Put material aid at a lower mark than gentleness
     Puzzle to connect the foregoing and the succeeding
     Quick to understand, she is in the quick of understanding
     Reflection upon a statement is its lightning in advance
     Religion condones offences:  Philosophy has no forgiveness
     Religion is the one refuge from women
     Scorn titles which did not distinguish practical offices
     Sensitiveness to the sting, which is not allowed to poison
     Seventy, when most men are reaping and stacking their sins
     She seemed really a soaring bird brought down by the fowler
     She was thrust away because because he had offended
     She stood with a dignity that the word did not express
     She endured meekly, when there was no meekness
     Should we leave a good deed half done
     Showery, replied the admiral, as his cocked-hat was knocked off
     So much for morality in those days! 
     So indulgent when they drop their blot on a lady’s character
     Steady shakes them
     Strengthening the backbone for a bend of the knee in calamity
     Style is the mantle of greatness
     Sweetest on earth to her was to be prized by her brother
     That sort of progenitor is your “permanent aristocracy”
     The habit of the defensive paralyzes will
     The embraced respected woman
     The idol of the hour is the mob’s wooden puppet
     The divinely damnable naked truth won’t wear ornaments