ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: |
  A tear would have overcome him—She had not wept Art of speaking on politics tersely Death within which welcomed a death without Dignity of sulking so seductive to the wounded spirit of man Grief of an ill-fortuned passion of his youth He lost the art of observing himself Immense wealth and native obtuseness combine to disfigure us Infallibility of our august mother Inflicted no foretaste of her coming subjection to him Love's a selfish business one has work in hand No man has a firm foothold who pretends to it Silence and such signs are like revelations in black night The defensive is perilous policy in war The greater wounds do not immediately convince us of our fate The rider's too heavy for the horse in England The weighty and the trivial contended Their hearts are eaten up by property Unanimous verdicts from a jury of temporary impressions We do not see clearly when we are trying to deceive Well, sir, we must sell our opium Won't do to be taking in reefs on a lee-shore Wooing a good man for his friendship |
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