He could remember all about it now; the pitiful figure he must have cut; the absurd way in which he had gone and done the very thing he had so often agreed with himself in thinking would be the most foolish thing in the world; and had met with exactly the consequences which, in these wise moods, he had always foretold were certain to follow, if he ever did make such a fool of himself.

He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it.

. . . it seemed to me that where others had prayed before to their God, in their joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place.

What other people may think of the rightness or wrongness is nothing in comparison to my own deep knowledge, my innate conviction that it was wrong.

One may be clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly.

I dare not hope. I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.

I dare say there's many a woman makes as sad a mistake as I have done, and only finds it out too late.