There are three classes into which all the women past seventy that ever I knew were to be divided: 1. That dear old soul; 2. That old woman; 3. That old witch.

I attended [Sir Humphry] Davy's lectures to renew my stock of metaphors.

There are three classes into which all the women past seventy that ever I knew were to be divided: 1. That dear old soul; 2. That old woman; 3. That old witch.

The fastidious taste will find offence in the occasional vulgarisms, or what we now call slang, which not a few of our writers seem to have affected.

May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping earth!

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks / Had I from old and young! / Instead of the cross, the Albatross / About my neck was hung.

An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches with spire steeples which point as with a silent finger to the sky and stars.