We certainly do not forget you, so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves.
I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being always approachable.
... strange things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly seached out.
Nothing ever fatigues me, but doing what I do not like.
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.
Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her.