ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
A heart-break for that kind is their salvation
A man may be forgiven for a sin, but the effect remains
A man you could bank on, and draw your interest reg’lar
Aboriginal dispersion
All he has to do is to be vague, and look prodigious (Scientist)
And even envy praised her
Audience that patronisingly listens outside a room or window
But to pay the vulgar penalty of prison—ah!
Death is a magnificent ally; it untangles knots
Death is not the worst of evils
Engrossed more, it seemed, in the malady than in the man
Every true woman is a mother, though she have no child
Fear a woman are when she hates, and when she loves
For a man having work to do, woman, lovely woman, is rocks
He didn’t always side with the majority
He had neither self-consciousness nor fear
Her own suffering always set her laughing at herself
It is difficult to be idle—and important too
It is hard to be polite to cowards
Jews everywhere treated worse than the Chinaman
Learned what fools we mortals be
Love can outlive slander
Men do not steal up here: that is the unpardonable crime
One always buys back the past at a tremendous price
One doesn’t choose to worry
Saying uncomfortable things in a deferential way
She had provoked love, but had never given it
Slow-footed hours wandered by, leaving apathy in their train
“Still the end of your existence,” I rejoined—“to be amused?”
That anxious civility which beauty can inspire
The happy scene of the play before the villain comes in
The ravings of a sick man are not always counted ravings
The sea is a great breeder of friendship
The tender care of a woman—than many pharmacopoeias
The threshold of an acknowledged love
There are things we repent of which cannot be repaired
There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world
Think that a woman gives the heart for pleasant weather only?
Thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart
Time a woman most yearns for a man is when she has refused him
Vanity; and from this much feminine hatred springs
Very severe on those who do not pretend to be good
What is gone is gone Graves are idolatry
Who get a morbid enjoyment out of misery
Would look back and not remember that she had a childhood