...she moved about in a mental cloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.
Tis because we be on a blighted star, and not a sound one, isn't it Tess?
You concede nothing to me and I have to concede everything to you.
That man's silence is wonderful to listen to.
The defective can be more than the entire.
Their position was perhaps the happiest of all positions in the social scale, being above the line at which neediness ends, and below the line at which the convenances begin to cramp natural feeling, and the stress of threadbare modishness makes too little of enough.