...she moved about in a mental cloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.

She was of the stuff of which great men's mothers are made. She was indispensable to high generation, hated at tea parties, feared in shops, and loved at crises.

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

The first cause worked automatically like a somnambulist, and not reflectively like a sage.

To be loved to madness--such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover.

All romances end at marriage.

Tis because we be on a blighted star, and not a sound one, isn't it Tess?