Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.

Then tell Wind and Fire where to stop," returned madame; "but don't tell me.

We went our several ways," said Lady Dedlock, "and had little in common even before we agreed to differ. It is to be regretted, I suppose, but it could not be helped.

Yet, I had nothing else to tell; unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment still), that no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I believed it in the writing.

... I have read in your face, as plain as if it was a book, that but for some trouble and sorrow we should never know half the good there is about us.

I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age.

Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.