Smell is the voice of the soul.

Miss Erstwhile: “It is such a relief, Mr. Nobley, to already know that you find this exercise vulgar and your partner unworthy. It saves us the idle chitchat.” Mr. Nobley: “And yet you chat away.

Go on, son, you're not doing me any good by bleeding.

Make haste” Jane added, just because she always wanted to say that.

He smiled in a way that made me want to kiss him right on the spot. Or the lips. Whichever was closer.

No small thing, a bee's sting When it enters the heart Not so benign, the growing vine When it tears stone apart

If you were a woman, all I'd have to say is 'Colin Firth in a wet shirt' and you'd say 'Ah.