A plunge into the deep is of little moment
A marriage without love is dishonour
Active despair is a passion that must be superseded
Am I ill? I must be hungry!
And, ladies, if you will consent to be likened to a fruit
And he passed along the road, adds the Philosopher
Bear in mind that we are sentimentalists—The eye is our servant
Being heard at night, in the nineteenth century
Beyond a plot of flowers, a gold-green meadow dipped to a ridge
But love for a parent is not merely duty
Depreciating it after the fashion of chartered hypocrites.
Emilia alone of the party was as a blot to her
Fine Shades were still too dominant at Brookfield
Had Shakespeare's grandmother three Christian names?
He thinks that the country must be saved by its women as well
His alien ideas were not unimpressed by the picture
Hushing together, they agreed that it had been a false move
I had to cross the park to give a lesson
I cannot delay; but I request you, that are here privileged
I had to make my father and mother live on potatoes
I detest anything that has to do with gratitude
I know that your father has been hearing tales told of me
I am not ashamed
It was as if she had been eyeing a golden door shut fast
Littlenesses of which women are accused
Love that shrieks at a mortal wound, and bleeds humanly
Love discerns unerringly what is and what is not duty
Love the poor devil
Love, with his accustomed cunning
Man who beats his wife my first question is, 'Do he take his tea?'
My mistress! My glorious stolen fruit! My dark angel of love
My voice! I have my voice! Emilia had cried it out to herself
My engagement to Mr. Pericles is that I am not to write
No nose to the hero, no moral to the tale
Nor can a protest against coarseness be sweepingly interpreted
Oh! beastly bathos
On a wild April morning
Once my love? said he. Not now?—does it mean, not now?
One of those men whose characters are read off at a glance
Our partner is our master
Passion does not inspire dark appetite—Dainty innocence does
Passion, he says, is noble strength on fire
Pleasure sat like an inextinguishable light on her face
Poor mortals are not in the habit of climbing Olympus to ask
Revived for them so much of themselves
She was perhaps a little the taller of the two
She had great awe of the word 'business'
Silence was their only protection to the Nice Feelings
So it is when you play at Life! When you will not go straight
Solitude is pasturage for a suspicion
The majority, however, had been snatched out of this bliss
The circle which the ladies of Brookfield were designing
The woman follows the man, and music fits to verse,
The sentimentalists are represented by them among the civilized
The dismally-lighted city wore a look of Judgement terrible to see
The sentimentalist goes on accumulating images
The gallant cornet adored delicacy and a gilded refinement
The philosopher (I would keep him back if I could)
Their way was down a green lane and across long meadow-paths
They, meantime, who had a contempt for sleep
They had all noticed, seen, and observed
To know that you are in England, breathing the same air with me
True love excludes no natural duty
Victims of the modern feminine 'ideal'
We have now looked into the hazy interior of their systems
We are, in short, a civilized people
What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing
Wilfrid perceived that he had become an old man
Women are wonderfully quick scholars under ridicule
You have not to be told that I desire your happiness above all