There are as many sorts of women as there are women.
Ceaseless as the interminable voices of the bell-cricket, all night till dawn my tears flow.
farewell' is a monster among words, and never yet sounded kindly in any ear.
In a certain reign there was a lady not of the first rank whom the emperor loved more than any of the others. The grand ladies with high ambitions thought her a presumptuous upstart, and lesser ladies were still more resentful. Everything she did offended someone.
Intimacy between stepchildren and stepparents is indeed proverbially difficult.
How much the more in judging of the human heart should we distrust all fashionable airs and graces, all tricks and smartness, learnt only to please the outward gaze