Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.

The more sensible a woman is, supposing her not to be masculine, the more attractive she is in her proportionate power to entertain.

There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.

I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.

O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.

Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart.

Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.