Worthless as wither'd weeds.

Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?

I cannot express it: but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you.

It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.

I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.

Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But if you be afraid of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in.

You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.