There's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder than words.

London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.

Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it.

To all the world he was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her he always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the child who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to mourn him.

Life, it turns out, is infinitely more clever and adaptable than anyone had ever supposed.

Well, sir, let us do what we can to curtail this visit, which can hardly be agreeable to you, and is inexpressibly irksome to me.

I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being.