The publicis rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not.

This is an evening of wonders, indeed!

But are they all horrid, are you sure they are all horrid? [Referring to Gothic novels, fashionable in England at the beginning of the 19th century, but frowned upon in polite society.]

We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.

It was a gloomy prospect, and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist cleared away, she should see something else.

I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it.

There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison