Worthless as wither'd weeds.

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I'd be your slave.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to loved or hated again.

But there's this one difference: one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it; yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had first-rate qualities, and they are lost, rendered worst than unavailing.