I am not an angel," I asserted; "and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself.
The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator.
The word book acted as a transient stimulus
We should acknowledge God merciful, but not always for us comprehensible.
A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away-away-to an indefinite distance-it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept.
Men, in general, are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which you have an idea.