I'd almost say it's the worries that make married folks sacred to each other.

In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.

Charity, till then, had been conscious only of a vague self-disgust and a frightening physical distress; now, of a sudden, there came to her the grave surprise of motherhood.

Her failure was a useful preliminary to success.

Archer had always been inclined to think that chance and circumstance played a small part in shaping people's lots compared with their innate tendency to have things happen to them.

He had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors shriveling up like ghosts at sunrise.

... naturalness is not always consonant with taste.