Perhaps what you call conventionality, I call decency.
Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation-- every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.
Well, my paper has asked me to do a series: Lives of the Great Musicians, reading time 2 minutes.
So many of the loveliest things in England are melancholy.
I could marry the Devil himself if he had some money.
a loss of sensibility follows a loss of innocence, at once a penalty and a compensation.