The morose one refuses to smile even when he has just had his teeth cleaned.

The villain may be good looking, but his smile is never quite right.

Flattery has to overcome my mistrust, and it does.

Profusion gives pleasure up to a point; then we become squeamish.

Every lover's lament has an element of boasting.

I regret. I apologize. I blame myself. I continue as before.

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen: even less, the trouble I've successfully avoided.