For all his pain, he longed to see the author of it. Although he hated Margaret at times, when he thought of that gentle familiar attitude and all the attendant circumstances, he had a restless desire to renew her picture in his mind - a longing for the very atmosphere she breathed. He was in the Charybdis of passion, and must perforce circle and circle ever nearer round the fatal centre.

I am the mother that bore you, and your sorrow is my agony; and if you don't hate her, i do' Then, mother, you make me love her more. She is unjustly treated by you, and I must make the balance even.

Sometimes one likes foolish people for their folly, better than wise people for their wisdom.

She never called her son by any name but John; 'love' and 'dear', and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny.

I never did write a biography, and I don't exactly know how to set about it; you see I have to be accurate and keep to the facts, a most difficult thing for a writer of fiction.

It is bad to believe you in error. It would be infinitely worse to have known you a hypocrite.

He shook hands with Margaret. He knew it was the first time their hands had met, though she was perfectly unconscious of the fact.