Oxford lends sweetness to labour and dignity to leisure.
Most English talk is a quadrille in a sentry-box.
I recall my fleeting instants in Savannah as the taste of a cup charged to the brim.
She was a woman who, between courses, could be graceful with her elbows on the table.
A man who pretends to understand women is bad manners. For him to really to understand them is bad morals.
Life is a predicament which precedes death.