Everybody has their taste in noises as well as in other matters.

A sick child is always the mother's property; her own feelings generally make it so.

Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands are exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing.

She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet.

How can you contrive to write so even?

There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.

She mediated, by turns, on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors.