Lucy was suffering from the most grievous wrong which this world has yet discovered: diplomatic advantage had been taken of her sincerity, of her craving for sympathy and love. Such a wrong is not easily forgotten. Never again did she expose herself without due consideration and precaution against rebuff. And such a wrong may react disastrously upon the soul.

Lord I disbelieve - help thou my unbelief.

Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the sooner it goes from us the better.

It was unbearable, and he thought again, 'How unhappy I am!' and became happier.

Passion should believe itself irresistible. It should forget civility and consideration and all the other curses of a refined nature. Above all, it should never ask for leave where there is a right of way.

Of course he despised the world as a whole; every thoughtful man should; it is almost a test of refinement.

She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some human love.