Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed.

Sink me! Your taylors have betrayed you! T'wood serve you better to send THEM to Madam Guillotine

Even the worst moments and the weariest journeys must come to an end.

Your mock saint who stands in a niche is not a woman if she have not suffered, still less a woman if she have not sinned. Fall at the feet of your idol as you wish, but drag her down to your level after that -- the only level she should ever reach, that of your heart.

The sound of distant breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are very happy that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.

Look at this limp cravet. And the sad state of those cuffs. I can hardly bring myself to look upon them.

Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed.