I have performed the necessary butchery. Here is the bleeding corpse.
A solitary maple on a woodside flames in single scarlet, recalls nothing so much as the daughter of a noble house dressed for a fancy ball, with the whole family gathered around to admire her before she goes.
In the long run an opinion often borrows credit from the forbearance of its patrons.
I ought to tell you that I'm probably your cousin.
I hold any writer sufficiently justified who is himself in love with his theme.
Every good story is of course both a picture and an idea, and the more they are interfused the better.