... when the locked door opens, and there comes in a young woman, deadly pale, and with long fair hair, who glides to the fire, and sits down in the chair we have left there, wringing her hands.

A man in public life expects to be sneered at -- it is the fault of his elevated situation, and not of himself.

An inebriated elderly gentleman in the last depths of shabbiness... played the calm and virtuous old men.

What greater gift than the love of a cat.

... still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine.

Long may it remain in this mixed world a question not easy of decision, which is the more beautiful evidence of the Almighty's goodness, the soft white hand formed for the ministrations of sympathy and tenderness, or the rough hard hand which the heart softens, teaches, and guides in a moment.

You know what I am going to say. I love you. What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell; what I mean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me.