A young philosopher's an old fool!A string of pearls: a woman who goes beyond that's in dangerA wound of the same kind that we are inflictingA sixpence kindly meant is worth any crown-piece that's grudgedA share of pity for the objects she despisedA style of affable omnipotence about the wise youthA dumb tongue can be a heavy liarA male devotee is within an inch of a miracleA night that had shivered reposeA madman gets madder when you talk reason to himA youth who is engaged in the occupation of eating his heartA bone in a boy's mind for him to gnaw and worryA kindly sense of superiorityA high wind will make a dead leaf fly like a birdA witty woman is a treasure; a witty Beauty is a powerA kind of anchorage in case of indiscretionA tragic comedian: that is, a grand pretender, a self-deceiverA great oration may be a sedativeA country of compromise goes to pieces at the first cannon-shotA lady's company-smileA superior position was offered her by her being silentA whisper of cajolery in season is often the secretA contented Irishman scarcely seems my countrymanA woman who has mastered sauces sits on the apex of civilizationA man who rejected medicine in extremityA maker of Proverbs—what is he but a narrow mind witA dash of conventionalism makes the whole civilized world kinA lover must have his delusions, just as a man must have a skinA cloud of millinery shoots me off a mile from a womanA tear would have overcome him—She had not weptA fleet of South-westerly rainclouds had been met in mid-skyA common age once, when he married her; now she had grown oldA fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable in ruinA very doubtful benefitA generous enemy is a friend on the wrong sideA woman's at the core of every plot man plottethA marriage without love is dishonourA plunge into the deep is of little momentA woman is hurt if you do not confide to her your plansA wise man will not squander his laughter if he can help itA woman rises to her husband. But a man is what he isA stew's a stew, and not a boiling to shredsA man to be trusted with the keys of anythingA bird that won't roast or boil or stewA female free-thinker is one of Satan's concubinesA free-thinker startles him as a kind of demonA woman, and would therefore listen to nonsenseAbject sense of the lack of a circumferenceAbove Nature, I tell him, or, we shall be very much belowAbove all things I detest the writing for moneyAbsolute freedom could be the worst of perilsAccidents are the specific for averting the maladies of ageAccounting for it, is not the same as excusingAccounting his tight blue tail coat and brass buttons a victoryAccustomed to be paid for by his countryActing is not of the high class which conceals the artActive despair is a passion that must be supersededAdd on a tired pipe after dark, and a sound sleep to followAdept in the lie impliedAdmirable scruples of an inveterate borrowerAdmiration of an enemy or oppressor doing great deedsAdmires a girl when there's no married woman or widow in sightAdversary at once offensive and helpless provokes brutalityAdvised not to push at a shut gateAffected misapprehensionsAffectedly gentle and unusually roundabout openingAfter five years of marriage, and twelve of friendshipAfter a big blow, a very little one scarcely countsAfter forty, men have married their habitsAgostino was enjoying the smoke of paper cigarettesAh! we fall into their fictionsAh! how sweet to waltz through life with the right partnerAh! we're in the enemy's country nowAimlessness of a woman's curiosityAlike believe that Providence is for themAll passed too swift for happinessAll are friends who sit at tableAll concessions to the people have been won from fearAll flattery is at somebody's expenseAll of us an ermined owl within us to sit in judgementAll women are the same—Know one, know allAll that Matey and Browny were forbidden to write they lookedAllowed silly sensitiveness to prevent the repairAlthough it blew hard when Caesar crossed the RubiconAlways the shout for more produced it ("News")Am I ill? I must be hungry!Am I thy master, or thou mine?Americans forgivingly remember, without mentioningAmiable mirror as being wilfully ruffled to confuseAmong boys there are laws of honour and chivalrous codesAmused after their tiresome work of slaughterAn old spoiler of women is worse than one spoiled by them!An obedient creature enough where he must beAn edge to his smile that cuts much like a sneerAn angry woman will think the worstAn incomprehensible world indeed at the bottom and at the topAn instinct labouring to supply the deficiencies of stupidityAnd her voice, against herself, was for EnglandAnd, ladies, if you will consent to be likened to a fruitAnd so Farewell my young Ambition! and with it farewell all trueAnd now came war, the purifier and the pestilenceAnd to these instructions he gave an aim: "First be virtuous"And life said, Do it, and death said, To what end?And never did a stroke of work in my lifeAnd not any of your grand ladies can match my wife at homeAnd one gets the worst of it (in any bargain)And he passed along the road, adds the PhilosopherAnd it's one family where the dog is pulled by the collarAnd not be beaten by an acknowledged defeatAnecdotist to slaughter families for the amusementAnguish to think of having bent the knee for nothingAnticipate opposition by initiating measuresAny excess pushes to crazinessAny man is in love with any womanAppealed to reason in them; he would not hear of convictionsAppetite to flourish at the cost of the weakerArch-devourer TimeAre we practical?' penetrates the bosom of an English audienceAristocratic assumption of licenceArm'd with Fear the Foe finds passage to the vital partArrest the enemy by vociferations of persistent prayerArt of speaking on politics terselyArt of despising what he covetedAs faith comes—no saying how; one swears by themAs for comparisons, they are flowers thrown into the fireAs in all great oratory! The key of it is the pathosAs the Lord decided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!"As to wit, the sneer is the cloak of clumsinessAs fair play as a woman's lord could give herAs when nations are secretly preparing for warAs if she had never heard him previously enunciate the formulaAs secretive as they are sensitiveAs well ask (women) how a battle-field concerns them!As becomes them, they do not look aheadAs for titles, the way to defend them is to be worthy of themAs if the age were the injury!As little trouble as the heath when the woods are sweptAshamed of letting his ears be filled with secret talkAsk pardon of you, without excusing myselfAsk not why, where reason never wasAssist in our small sphere; not come mouthing to the footlightsAt war with ourselves, means the best happiness we can haveAt the age of forty, men that love love rootedlyAttacked my conscience on the cowardly sideAutomatic creature is subject to the laws of its constructionAvoid the position that enforces publishingBack from the altar to discover that she has chained herselfBad laws are best brokenBad luck's not repeated every day Keep heart for the goodBade his audience to beware of princesBandied the weariful shuttlecock of gallantryBarriers are for those who cannot flyBe the woman and have the last word!Be on your guard the next two minutes he gets you aloneBe good and dull, and please everybodyBe philosophical, but accept your personal duesBe what you seem, my little oneBe politic and give her elbow-room for her natural anglesBear in mind that we are sentimentalists—The eye is our servantBeauchamp's careerBeautiful women may believe themselves belovedBeautiful women in her position provoke an intemperatenessBeautiful servicelessnessBeauty is rare; luckily is it rareBecause you loved something better than meBecause men can't abide praise of another manBecause he stood so high with her now he feared the fallBecoming air of appropriation that made it family historyBed was a rock of refuge and fortified defenceBegan the game of PullBeginning to have a movement to kiss the whipBehold the hero embarked in the redemption of an erring beautyBeing in heart and mind the brother to the sister with womenBeing heard at night, in the nineteenth centuryBelief in the narrative by promoting nausea in the audienceBelieved in her love, and judged it by the strength of his ownBent double to gather things we have tossed awayBetter for men of extremely opposite opinions not to meetBetween love grown old and indifference ageing to loveBeware the silent one of an assembly!Beyond a plot of flowers, a gold-green meadow dipped to a ridgeBitten hard at experience, and know the value of a toothBorrower to be dancing on Fortune's tight-rope above the old abyssBotched mendings will only make them worseBound to assure everybody at table he was perfectly happyBounds of his intelligence closed their four wallsBoys who can appreciate brave deeds are capable of doing themBoys, of course—but men, too!Boys are unjustBraggadocioing in deeds is only next bad to mouthing itBrains will beat Grim Death if we have enough of themBrief negatives are not re-assuring to a lover's uneasy mindBritish hunger for news; second only to that for beefBrittle is foredoomedBrotherhood among the select who wear masks instead of facesBut great, powerful London—the new universe to her spiritBut the key to young men is the ambition, or, in the place of it…..But to strangle craving is indeed to go through a deathBut a woman must now and then ingratiate herselfBut a great success is full of temptationsBut is there such a thing as happinessBut what is it we do (excepting cricket, of course)But the flower is a thing of the season; the flower drops offBut love for a parent is not merely dutyBut they were a hopeless couple, they were so friendlyBut I leave it to youBut you must be beautiful to please some menBut had sunk to climb on a firmer footingBy nature incapable of asking pardonBy forbearance, put it in the wrongBy resisting, I made him a tyrantBy our manner of loving we are knownCajoled like a twenty-year-old yahoo at collegeCall of the great world's appetite for more (Invented news)Calm fanaticism of the passion of loveCan you not be told you are perfect without seeking to improveCan a man go farther than his nature?Can believe a woman to be any age when her cheeks are tintedCannot be any goodness unless it is a practiced goodnessCanvassing means intimidation or corruptionCapacity for thinking should precede the act of writingCapricious potentate whom they worshipCareful not to smell of his officeCarry explosives and must particularly guard against sparksCarry a scene through in virtue's name and vice's maskCauses him to be popularly weighedCentres of polished barbarism known as aristocratic societiesChallenged him to lead up to her desired stormy sceneCharges of cynicism are common against all satiristsCharitable mercifulness; better than sentimental ointmentCharity that supplied the place of justice was not thankedChaste are wattled in formalism and throned in sournessCheerful martyrChildish faith in the beneficence of the unseen Powers who feed usChose to conceive that he thought abstractedlyCircumstances may combine to make a whisper as deadly as a blowCivil tongue and rosy smiles sweeten even sour wineClaim for equality puts an end to the priceless privilegesClotilde fenced, which is half a confessionCock-sure has crowed low by sunsetCold charity to allCold curiosityCome prepared to be not very well satisfied with anythingComfortable have to pay in occasional panics for the serenityCommand of countenance the Countess possessedCommencement of a speech proves that you have made the plungeCommon voice of praise in the mouths of his creditorsCommon sense is the secret of every successful civil agitationCompared the governing of the Irish to the management of a horseComparisons will thrust themselves on minds disorderedCompassionate sentiments veered round to irate amazementComplacent languor of the wise youthCompliment of being outwitted by their own offspringCompromise is virtual deathConduct is never a straight index where the heart's involvedConfess no more than is necessary, but do everything you canConfident serenity inspired by evil prognosticationsConsciousness of some guilt when vowing itself innocentConsent to take life as it isConsent of circumstancesConservative, whose astounded state paralyzes his wrathConsign discussion to silence with the cynical closureConstitutionally discontentedConsult the family means—waste your timeContempt of military weapons and ridicule of the art of warContemptuous exclusiveness could not go fartherContinued trust in the man—is the alternative of despairConvict it by instinct without the ceremony of a juryConvictions we store—wherewith to shape our destiniesConvictions are generally first impressionsConvincing themselves that they impersonate sagacityCordiality of an extreme relief in leavingCould not understand enthusiasm for the schoolmaster's careerCould peruse platitudes upon that theme with enthusiasmCould affect me then, without being flung at meCould we—we might be friendsCould the best of men be simply—a woman's friend?Could have designed this gabbler for the mateCountry can go on very well without so much speech-makingCountry prizing ornaments higher than qualitiesCountry enclosed us to make us feel snug in our own importanceCourage to grapple with his pride and open his heart was wantingCover of action as an escape from perplexityCowardice is even worse for nations than for individual menCrazy zigzag of policy in almost every stroke (of history)Creatures that wait for circumstances to bring the changeCritical in their first glance at a prima donnaCritical fashion of intimates who know as well as hearCupid clipped of wing is a destructive parasiteCurious thing would be if curious things should fail to happenDahlia, the perplexity to her sister's heart, lay stretched….Damsel who has lost the third volume of an exciting novelDangerous things are uttered after the third glassDark-eyed Renee was not beauty but attractionDays when you lay on your back and the sky rained applesDead Britons are all Britons, but live Britons are not quite brothersDeath is only the other side of the ditchDeath within which welcomed a death withoutDeath is our common cloak; but Calamity individualizesDeath is always next doorDebit was eloquent, he was unanswerableDecency's a dirty petticoat in the Garden of InnocenceDecent insincerityDecline to practise hypocrisyDedicated to the putrid of the upper circleDeeds only are the titleDeep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fiery as a saint'sDefiance of foes and (what was harder to brave) of friendsDelay in thine undertaking Is disaster of thy own makingDepending for dialogue upon perpetual fresh supplies of scandalDepreciating it after the fashion of chartered hypocrites.Desire of it destroyed itDespises hostile elements and goes unpunishedDespises the pomades and curling-irons of modern romanceDetermine that the future is in our debt, and draw on itDetestable feminine storms enveloping men weak enoughDetested titles, invented by the EnglishDeveloping stiff, solid, unobtrusive men, and very personable womenDialectical stiffnessDialogue between Nature and CircumstanceDid not know the nature of an oath, and was dismissedDidn't say a word No use in talking about feelingsDignitary, and he passed under the bondage of that positionDignity of sulking so seductive to the wounded spirit of manDiscover the writers in a day when all are writing!Discreet play with her eyelids in our encountersDisqualification of constantly offending prejudicesDissent rings out finely, and approval is a feeble murmurDistaste for all exercise once pleasurableDistinguished by his not allowing himself to be provokedDistrust us, and it is a declaration of warDithyrambic inebriety of narrationDivided lovers in presenceDo you judge of heroes as of lesser men?Do I serve my hand? or, Do I serve my heart?Dogmatic arrogance of a just but ignorant manDogs die more decently than we menDogs' eyes have such a sick look of loveDose he had taken was not of the sweetestDrank to show his disdain of its powersDreaded as a scourge, hailed as a refreshment (Scandalsheet)Dreads our climate and coffee too much to attempt the voyageDrink is their death's river, rolling them on helplessDudley was not gifted to read behind words and looksEarl of Cressett fell from his coach-box in a fitEating, like scratching, only wants a beginningEccentric behaviour in triflesEffort to be reticent concerning Nevil, and communicativeEfforts to weary him out of his project were unsuccessfulElderly martyr for the advancement of his juniorsEmbarrassments of an uncongenial employmentEmilia alone of the party was as a blot to herEminently servile is the tolerated lawbreakerEmpanelled to deliver verdicts upon the ways of womenEmpty magnanimity which his uncle presented to himEmpty stomachs are foul counsellorsEnamoured young men have these notionsEnemy's laugh is a bugle blown in the nightEnergy to something, that was not to be had in a marketEngland's the foremost country of the globeEnglish maids are domesticated savage animalsEnglish antipathy to babblersEnjoys his luxuries and is ashamed of his lazinessEnthusiasm has the privilege of not knowing monotonyEnthusiasm struck and tightened the loose chord of scepticismEnthusiast, when not lyrical, is perilously near to boringEnvy of the man of positive knowledgeEqually acceptable salted when it cannot be had freshEverlastingly in this life the better pays for the worseEvery church of the city lent its iron tongue to the pealEvery failure is a step advancedEvery woman that's married isn't in love with her husbandEverywhere the badge of subjection is a poor stomachExceeding variety and quantity of things money can buyExcellent is pride; but oh! be sure of its foundationsExcess of a merit is a capital offence in moralityExcited, glad of catastrophe if it but killed monotonyExpectations dupe us, not trustExplaining of things to a dull headExternally soft and polished, internally hard and relentlessExuberant anticipatory trustfulnessExult in imagination of an escape up to the moment of captureEyes of a lover are not his own; but his hands and lips areFace betokening the perpetual smack of lemonFailures oft are but advising friendsFaith works miracles. At least it allows time for themFantasticalFar higher quality is the will that can subdue itself to waitFast growing to be an eccentric by professionFatal habit of superiority stopped his tongueFather used to say, four hours for a man, six for a womanFather and she were aware of one another without conversingFavour can't help coming by rotationFear nought so much as Fear itselfFeel they are not up to the people they are mixing withFeel no shame that I do not feel!Feeling, nothing beyond a lively interest in her well-beingFeigned utter condemnation to make partial comfort acceptableFell to chatting upon the nothings agreeably and seriouslyFeminine pity, which is nearer to contempt than to tendernessFeminine; coming when she willed and flying when wantedFestive board provided for them by the valour of their fathersFew men can forbear to tell a spicy story of their friendsFew feelings are single on this globeFiddle harmonics on the sensual stringsFine Shades were still too dominant at BrookfieldFine eye for celestially directed consequences is ever hauntedFinishing touches to the negligenceFire smoothes the creasesFires in the grates went through the ceremony of warming nobodyFit of Republicanism in the nurseryFlashes bits of speech that catch men in their unguarded cornerFlung him, pitied him, and passed onFoamy top is offered and gulped as equivalent to an ideaFoe can spoil my face; he beats me if he spoils my temperFoist on you their idea of your idea at the momentFond, as they say, of his glass and his girlFoolish trick of thinking for herselfFor 'tis Ireland gives England her soldiers, her generals tooForewarn readers of this history that there is no plot in itForgetfulness is like a closing seaFortitude leaned so much upon the ironyForty seconds too fast, as if it were a capital offenceFound that he 'cursed better upon water'Found it difficult to forgive her his own follyFound by the side of the bed, inanimate, and pale as a sister of deathFourth of the GeorgesFrankness as an armour over warinessFretted by his relatives he cannot be much of a giantFriend he would not shake off, but could not well link withFriendship, I fancy, means one heart between twoFrom head to foot nothing better than a moan made visibleFrozen vanity called pride, which does not seek to be revengedFull-o'-Beer's a hasty chapFun, at any cost, is the one object worth a shotFurther she read, "Which is the coward among us?"Generally he noticed nothingGentlefolks like straight-forwardness in their inferiorsGentleman in a good state of preservationGentleman who does so much 'cause he says so littleGet back what we giveGiant Vanity urged Giant Energy to make use of Giant DuplicityGive our courage as hostage for the fulfilment of what we hopeGive our consciences to the keeping of the parsonsGiven up his brains for a lodging to a single ideaGlimpse of her whole life in the horrid tomb of his embraceGone to pieces with an injured lover's babbleGood nerve to face the scene which he is certain will be enactedGood jokes are not always good policyGood maxim for the wrathful—speak not at allGood and evil work together in this worldGood nature, and means no more harm than he can helpGood-bye to sorrow for a while—Keep your tears for the livingGoodish sort of fellow; good horseman, good shot, good characterGossip always has some solid foundation, however smallGovernment of brain; not sufficient Insurrection of heartGradations appear to be unknown to youGraduated naturally enough the finer stages of self-deceptionGrand air of pitying sadnessGratitude never was a woman's giftGratuitous insultGravely reproaching the tobacconist for the growing costliness of cigarsGreater our successes, the greater the slaves we becomeGreatest of men; who have to learn from the loss of the womanGrief of an ill-fortuned passion of his youthGrimaces at a government long-nosed to no purposeGrossly unlike in likeness (portraits)Habit of antedating his sagacityHabit, what a sacred and admirable thing it isHabit had legalized his union with herHad taken refuge in their opera-glassesHad Shakespeare's grandmother three Christian names?Had come to be her lover through being her husbandHad got the trick of lying, through fear of telling the truthHalf designingly permitted her trouble to be seenHalf a dozen dozen leftHalf-truth that we may put on the mask of the wholeHappiness in love is a match between ecstasy and complianceHappy the woman who has not more to speakHappy in privation and suffering if simply we can accept beautyHard enough for a man to be married to a foolHard men have sometimes a warm affection for dogsHard to bear, at times unbearableHaremed opinion of the unfitness of womenHated one thing alone—which was 'bother'Hated tears, considering them a clog to all useful machineryHates a compromiseHaunted many pillowsHave her profile very frequently while I am conversing with herHaving contracted the fatal habit of ironyHe was not alive for his own pleasureHe was in love, and subtle love will not be shamed and smotheredHe neared her, wooing her; and she assentedHe prattled, in the happy ignorance of compulsionHe had by nature a tarnishing eye that cast discolourationHe has been tolerably honest, Tom, for a man and a loverHe clearly could not learn from misfortuneHe had to go, he must, he has to be always goingHe never acknowledged a trouble, he dispersed itHe sinks terribly when he sinks at allHe was a figure on a horse, and naught when off itHe would neither retort nor defend himselfHe had no recollection of having ever dined without drinking wineHe was not a weaver of phrases in distressHe thinks or he chewsHe is inexorable, being the guilty one of the twoHe postponed it to the next minute and the nextHe is in the season of faultsHe thinks that the country must be saved by its women as wellHe stormed her and consented to be beatenHe kept saying to himself, 'to-morrow I will tell'He had his character to maintainHe grunted that a lying clock was hateful to himHe squandered the guineas, she patiently picked up the penceHe judged of others by himselfHe was the maddest of tyrants—a weak oneHe had neat phrases, opinions in packetsHe whipped himself up to one of his oratorical frenziesHe was the prisoner of his wordHe, by insisting, made me a rebelHe never calculated on the happening of mortal accidentsHe smoked, Lord Avonley said of the second departureHe will be a part of every history (the fool)He lies as naturally as an infant sucksHe tried to gather his ideas, but the effort was like that of a light dreamerHe put no question to anybodyHe gained much by claiming littleHe had expected romance, and had met merchandizeHe lost the art of observing himselfHe bowed to factsHe runs too much from first principles to extremesHe condensed a paragraph into a lineHe was too much on fire to know the taste of absurdityHe wants the whip; ought to have had it regularlyHe never explainedHe had wealth for a likeness of strengthHe did not vastly respect beautiful womenHe had gone, and the day lived again for both of themHe took small account of the operations of the feelingsHe began ambitiously—It's the way at the beginningHe had to shake up wrath over his grievancesHe gave a slight sign of restiveness, and was allowed to goHe loathed a skulkerHe's good from end to end, and beats a Christian hollow (a hog)Hear victorious lawlessness appealing solemnly to God the lawHeart to keep guard and bury the bones you tossed himHeartily she thanked the girl for the excuse to cryHearts that make one soul do not separately count their giftsHeathen vindictiveness declaring itself holyHeights of humour beyond laughterHer feelings—trustier guides than her judgement in this crisisHer intimacy with a man old enough to be her grandfatherHer aspect suggested the repose of a winter landscapeHer vehement fighting against factsHer duel with TimeHer singing struck a note of grateful remembered delightHer final impression likened him to a house locked up and emptyHer peculiar tenacity of the sense of injuryHere and there a plain good soul to whom he was affectionateHere, where he both wished and wished not to beHermits enamoured of wind and rainHero embarked in the redemption of an erring beautiful womanHeroine, in common with the hero, has her ambition to be of useHerself, content to be dull if he might shineHesitating strangeness that sometimes gathers during absencesHimself in the worn old surplice of the converted rakeHis equanimity was fictitiousHis gaze and one of his ears, if not the pair, were givenHis alien ideas were not unimpressed by the pictureHis idea of marriage is, the taking of the woman into custodyHis violent earnestness, his imperial self-confidenceHis ridiculous equanimityHis fancy performed miraculous featsHis apparent cynicism is sheer irritabilityHis aim to win the woman acknowledged no obstacle in the meansHis restored sense of possessionHis wife alone, had, as they termed it, kept him togetherHolding to his work after the strain's over—That tells the manHolding to the refusal, for the sake of consistencyHoly images, and other miraculous objects are soldHonest creatures who will not accept a lift from fictionHope which lies in giving men a dose of hystericsHopeless task of defending a woman from a womanHopes of a coming disillusion that would restore himHosts of men are of the simple order of the comicHow many instruments cannot clever women play uponHow little a thing serves Fortune's turnHow Success derides Ambition!How immensely nature seems to prefer men to women!How angry I should be with you if you were not so beautiful!How little we mean to do harm when we do an injuryHow to compromise the matter for the sake of peace?How many degrees from love gratitude may beHug the hatred they packed up among their bundlesHuman nature to feel an interest in the dog that has bitten youHumour preserved her from excesses of sentimentHuntress with few scruples and the game unguardedHushing together, they agreed that it had been a false moveI rather like to hear a woman swear. It embellishes her!I ain't a speeder of matrimonyI haven't got the pluck of a fleaI never pay compliments to transparent meritI 'm the warming pan, as legitimately I should beI always respected her; I never liked herI would cut my tongue out, if it did you a serviceI do not defend myself everI want no more, except to be taught to workI married a cook She expects a big appetiteI would wait till he flung you off, and kneel to youI detest anything that has to do with gratitudeI had to make my father and mother live on potatoesI cannot delay; but I request you, that are here privilegedI cannot get on with GibbonI can confess my sight to be imperfect: but will you ever do so?I have all the luxuries—enough to loathe themI hate old age It changes you soI could be in love with her cruelty, if only I had her near meI look on the back of lifeI who respect the state of marriage by refusingI like him, I like him, of course, but I want to breatheI know that your father has been hearing tales told of meI hope I am not too hungry to discriminateI did, replied Evan. 'I told a lie.'I am not ashamedI was discontented, and could not speak my discontentI never saw out of a doll-shop, and never saw thereI beg of my husband, and all kind people who may have the careI can't think brisk out of my breechesI have learnt as much from light literature as from heavyI had to cross the park to give a lessonI 'm a bachelor, and a person—you're married, and an objectI cannot live a life of deceit. A life of misery—not deceitI am a discordant instrument I do not readily vibrateI take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler's stallI always wait for a thing to happen firstI never see anything, my dearI know nothing of imaginationI never knew till this morning the force of No in earnestI can pay clever gentlemen for doing Greek for meI do not see it, because I will not see itI wanted a heroI do not think Frenchmen comparable to the women of FranceI cannot say less, and will say no moreI baint done yetI detest enthusiasmI make a point of never recommending my own houseI laughed louder than was necessaryI hate sleep: I hate anything that robs me of my willI don't count them against women (moods)I have and hold—you shall hunger and covetI give my self, I do not sellI'll come as straight as I canI'm for a rational DeityI'm in love with everything she wishes! I've got the habitIdea is the only vital breathIdeas in gestation are the dullest matter you can haveIf the world is hostile we are not to blame itIf you have this creative soul, be the slave of your creatureIf I love you, need you care what anybody else thinksIf I do not speak of paymentIf there's no doubt about it, how is it I have a doubt about it?If you kneel down, who will decline to put a foot on you?If we are robbed, we ask, How came we by the goods?If we are really for Nature, we are not lawlessIf he had valued you half a grain less, he might have won youIf thou wouldst fix remembrance—thwack!If I'm struck, I strike backIf only been intellectually a little flexible in his moralityIf we are to please you rightly, always allow us to play FirstIgnorance roaring behind a mask of sarcasmImagination she has, for a source of strength in the future daysImmense wealth and native obtuseness combine to disfigure usImparting the usual chorus of yesses to his own mindImpossible for us women to comprehend love without folly in manImpossible for him to think that women thoughtImpudent boy's fling at superiority over the superiorIn Italy, a husband away, ze friend takes titleIn truth she sighed to feel as he did, above everybodyIn Sir Austin's Note-book was written: "Between Simple Boyhood…"In our House, my son, there is peculiar blood. We go to wreck!In India they sacrifice the widows, in France the virginsIn every difficulty, patience is a life-beltIn the pay of our doctorsIn bottle if not on draught (oratory)Incapable of putting the screw upon weak excited natureIncessantly speaking of the necessity we granted it unknowinglyInclined to act hesitation in accepting the aid she soughtIncrease of dissatisfaction with the more she gotIndirect communication with heavenInducement to act the hypocrite before the hypocrite worldIndulged in their privilege of thinking what they likedInfallibility of our august motherInfants are said to have their ideas, and why not young ladies?Infatuated men argue likewise, and scandal does not move themInferences are like shadows on the wallInflicted no foretaste of her coming subjection to himInformed him that he never played jokes with money, or on menInjury forbids us to be friends againInnocence and uncleanness may go togetherInsistency upon there being two sides to a case—to every caseIntellectual contempt of easy dupesIntensely communicative, but inarticulateIntentions are really rich possessionsIntimations of cowardice menacing a paralysis of the willIntrusion of hard material statements, factsIntrusion of the spontaneous on the stereotyped would clashInvite indecision to exhaust their scruplesIreland 's the sore place of EnglandIrishman there is a barrow trolling a load of grievancesIrishmen will never be quite sincereIronical fortitudeIrony instead of eloquenceIrony in him is only eulogy standing on its headIrony provoked his laughter more than funIrony that seemed to spring from aversionIrritability at the intrusion of past disputesIs not one month of brightness as much as we can ask for?Is it any waste of time to write of love?Is he jealous? 'Only when I make him, he is.'It is the devil's masterstroke to get us to accuse himIt was now, as Sir Austin had written it down, The Magnetic AgeIt rarely astonishes our ears It illumines our soulsIt was an honest buss, but dear at ten thousandIt was harder to be near and not closeIt is the best of signs when women take to herIt is no insignificant contest when love has to crush self-loveIt is well to learn manners without having them imposed on usIt 's us hard ones that get on best in the worldIt was in a time before our joyful era of universal equalityIt is not high flying, which usually ends in heavy fallingIt goes at the lifting of the bridegroom's little fingerIt would be hard! ay, then we do it forthwithIt was his ill luck to have strong appetites and a weak stomachIt is better for us both, of courseIt was as if she had been eyeing a golden door shut fastIt is no use trying to conceal anything from himIt was her prayer to heaven that she might save a doctor's billIt's a fool that hopes for peace anywhereIt's no use trying to be a gentleman if you can't pay for itItalians were like women, and wanted—a real beatingIts glee at a catastrophe; its poor stock of mercyJanuary was watering and freezing old earth by turnsJudgeing of the destiny of man by the fate of individualsJust bad inquirin' too close among menKeep passion sober, a trotter in harnessKelts, as they are called, can't and won't forgive injuriesKindness is kindness, all over the worldKnew my friend to be one of the most absent-minded of menLack of precise words admonished him of the virtue of silenceLand and beasts! They sound like blessed thingsLawyers hold the keys of the great worldLay no petty traps for opportunityLaying of ghosts is a public dutyLeader accustomed to count ahead upon vapourish abstractionsLearn all about them afterwards, ay, and make the best of themLearn—principally not to be afraid of ideasLed him to impress his unchangeableness upon herLend him your own generosityLengthened term of peace bred maggots in the heads of the peopleLest thou commence to lie—be dumb!Let but the throb be kept for others—That is the one secretLet never Necessity draw the bow of our weaknessLet none of us be so exalted above the wit of daily lifeLevelling a finger at the taxpayerLies are usurers' coin we pay for ten thousand per centLife is the burlesque of young dreamsLike an ill-reared fruit, first at the core it rottethLike a woman, who would and would not, and wanted a masterLimit was two bottles of port wine at a sittingListened to one another, and blinded the worldLiterature is a good stick and a bad horseLittle boy named Tommy Wedger said he saw a dead body go byLittlenesses of which women are accusedLoathing for speculationLoathing of artifice to raise emotionLonging for love and dependenceLook backward only to correct an error of conduct in futureLook well behindLook within, and avoid lyingLooked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amountLooking on him was listeningLoudness of the interrogation precluded thought of an answerLove the children of Erin, when not fretted by themLove and war have been compared—Both require strategyLove the difficulty better than the womanLove of pleasure keeps us blind childrenLove must needs be an egoismLove dies like natural decayLove, with his accustomed cunningLove the poor devilLove discerns unerringly what is and what is not dutyLove of men and women as a toy that I have played withLove is a contagious diseaseLove, that has risen above emotion, quite independent of cravingLove that shrieks at a mortal wound, and bleeds humanlyLove's a selfish business one has work in handLoves his poets, can almost understand what poetry meansLoving in this land: they all go mad, straight offLucky accidents are anticipated only by foolsMade of his creed a strait-jacket for humanityMadness that sane men enamoured can be struck byMagnificent in generosity; he had little humanenessMagnify an offence in the ratio of our vanityMake a girl drink her tears, if they ain't to be let fallMake no effort to amuse him. He is always occupiedMaking too much of it—a trick of the vulgarMan without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of prideMan who beats his wife my first question is, 'Do he take his tea?'Man with a material object in aim, is the man of his objectMan owes a duty to his classMan who helps me to read the world and men as they areMankind is offended by heterodoxy in mean attireMare would do, and better than a dozen horsesMark of a fool to take everybody for a bigger fool than himselfMarriage is an awful thing, where there's no loveMarried a wealthy manufacturer—bartered her blood for his moneyMarried at forty, and I had to take her shaped as she wasMartyrs of love or religion are madmenMaterial good reverses its benefits the more nearly we clasp itMatter that is not nourishing to brainsMaxims of her own on the subject of rising and getting the wormMay lull themselves with their wakefulnessMay not one love, not craving to be beloved?Meant to vanquish her with the dominating patienceMeditations upon the errors of the general man, as a coverMemory inspired by the sensationsMen in love are children with their mistressesMen do not play truant from home at sixty years of ageMen overweeningly in love with their creationsMen had not pleased him of lateMen who believe that there is a virtue in imprecationsMen bore the blame, though the women were rightly punishedMen love to boast of things nobody else has seenMen must fight: the law is only a quieter field for themMen they regard as their natural preyMental and moral neutersMetaphysician's treatise on Nature: a torch to see the sunriseMighty Highnesses who had only smelt the outside edge of battleMika! you did it in cold blood?Mindless, he says, and arrogantMinutes taken up by the grey puffs from their mouthsMistake of the world is to think happiness possible to the senseMistaking of her desires for her reasonsModest are the most easily intoxicated when they sip at vanityMoney is of course a rough test of virtueMoney's a chain-cable for holding men to their sensesMoral indignation is ever consolatoryMorales, madame, suit ze sunMore argument I cannot bearMore culpable the sparer than the sparedMost youths are like Pope's women; they have no characterMrs. Fleming, of Queen Anne's Farm, was the wife of a yeomanMusic was resumed to confuse the hearing of the eavesdroppersMusic in Italy? Amorous and martial, brainless and monotonousMust be the moralist in the satirist if satire is to strikeMutual deferenceMy first girl—she's brought disgrace on this houseMy voice! I have my voice! Emilia had cried it out to herselfMy plain story is of two Kentish damselsMy mistress! My glorious stolen fruit! My dark angel of loveMy engagement to Mr. Pericles is that I am not to writeMy belief is, you do it on purpose. Can't be such rank idiotsNaked original ideas, are acceptable at no timeNapoleon's treatment of women is excellent exampleNation's half made-up of the idle and the servants of the idleNations at war are wild beastsNaturally as deceived as he wished to beNature and Law never agreedNature is not of necessity always roaringNature could at a push be eloquent to defend the guiltyNature's logic, Nature's voice, for self-defenceNaughtily Australian and kangaroolyNecessary for him to denounce somebodyNecessity's offspringNeeded support of facts, and feared themNever nurse an injury, great or smallNever fell far short of outstripping the sturdy pedestrian TimeNever forget that old Ireland is weepingNever reckon on womankind for a wise actNever was a word fitter for a quack's mouth than "humanity"Never forgave an injury without a return blow for itNever to despise the good opinion of the nonentitiesNever, never love a married womanNever intended that we should play with flesh and bloodNever pretend to know a girl by her faceNevertheless, inclinations are an infidelityNext door to the Last TrumpNight has little mercy for the self-reproachfulNo enemy's shot is equal to a weak heart in the actNo case is hopeless till a man consents to think it isNo runner can outstrip his fateNo flattery for me at the expense of my sistersNo heart to dare is no heart to love!No nose to the hero, no moral to the taleNo word is more lightly spoken than shameNo intoxication of hot blood to cheer those who sat at homeNo man can hear the words which prove him a prophet (quietly)No great harm done when you're silentNo stopping the Press while the people have an appetite for itNo Act to compel a man to deny what appears in the papersNo love can be without jealousyNo man has a firm foothold who pretends to itNo conversation coming of it, her curiosity was violentNo companionship save with the wound they nurseNo! Gentlemen don't fling stones; leave that to the blackguardsNone but fanatics, cowards, white-eyeballed dogmatistsNor can a protest against coarseness be sweepingly interpretedNot to bother your wits, but leave the puzzle to the priestNot likely to be far behind curates in besieging an heiressNot to go hunting and fawning for alliancesNot much esteem for non-professional actressesNot every chapter can be sunshineNot in a situation that could bear of her blaming herselfNot to be the idol, to have an aim of our ownNot the indignant and the frozen, but the genially indifferentNot always the right thing to do the right thingNot to do things wholly is worse than not to do things at allNot a page of his books reveals malevolence or a sneerNot in love—She was only not unwilling to be in loveNot to be feared more than are the general race of bunglersNot men of brains, but the men of aptitudesNot daring risk of office by offending the taxpayerNot afford to lose, and a disposition free of the craving to winNot the great creatures we assume ourselves to beNot so much read a print as read the imprinting on themselvesNothing desirable will you have which is not covetedNothing is a secret that has been spokenNothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit byNotoriously been above the honours of grammarNought credit but what outward orbs revealNow far from him under the failure of an effort to come nearNursing of a military invalid awakens tenderer anxietiesO self! self! self!O for yesterday!O heaven! of what avail is human effort?Obedience oils necessityObeseness is the most sensitive of our ailmentsObjects elevated even by a decayed world have their magnetismObservation is the most, enduring of the pleasures of lifeOccasional instalments—just to freshen the accountOfficial wrath at sound of footfall or a fancied oneOggler's genial piety made him shrink with nauseaOh! beastly bathosOh! I can't bear that class of peopleOld age is a prison wall between us and young peopleOld houses are doomed to burningsOmnipotence, which is in the image of themselvesOn a morning when day and night were made one by fogOn which does the eye linger longest—which draws the heart?On a wild April morningOn the threshold of Puberty, there is one Unselfish HourOnce out of the rutted line, you are food for lion and jackalOnce my love? said he. Not now?—does it mean, not now?Once called her beautiful; his praise had given her beautyOne has to feel strong in a delicate positionOne night, and her character's goneOne wants a little animation in a husbandOne in a temper at a time I'm sure 's enoughOne might build up a respectable figure in negativesOne fool makes many, and so, no doubt, does one gooseOne is a fish to her hook; another a moth to her lightOne learns to have compassion for fools, by studying themOne idea is a bulletOne of those men whose characters are read off at a glanceOne seed of a piece of folly will lurk and sprout to confound usOne who studies is not being a foolOnly true race, properly so called, out of India—GermanOnly to be described in the tongue of auctioneersOpened a wider view of the world to him, and a colderOpenly treated; all had an air of being on the surfaceOptional marriages, broken or renewed every seven yearsOr where you will, so that's in IrelandOratory will not work against the stream, or on languid tidesOrderliness, from which men are privately exemptOur partner is our masterOur most diligent pupil learns not so much as an earnest teacherOur love and labour are constantly on trialOur bravest, our best, have an impulse to runOur comedies are frequently youth's tragediesOur weakness is the swiftest dog to hunt usOur life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labourOur lawyers have us inside out, like our physiciansOwner of such a woman, and to lose her!Pact between cowardice and comfort under the title of expediencyPain is a cloak that wraps you aboutPaint themselves pure white, to the obliteration of minor spotsParliament, is the best of occupations for idle menPartake of a morning draughtPassion is not invariably lovePassion, he says, is noble strength on firePassion does not inspire dark appetite—Dainty innocence doesPassion added to a bowl of reason makes a sophist's messPast, future, and present, the three weights upon humanityPast fairness, vaguely like a snow landscape in the thawPatience is the pestilencePatronizing womanPaying compliments and spoiling a game!Payment is no more so than to restore money held in trustPeace, I do pray, for the husband-haunted wifePeace-party which opposed was the actual cause of the warPebble may roll where it likes—not so the costly jewelPeculiar subdued form of laughter through the nosePeople who can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any seasonPeople is one of your Radical big words that burst at a queryPeople of a provocative prosperityPeople with whom a mute conformity is as good as worshipPeople were virtuous in past days: they counted their sinnersPerhaps inspire him, if he would let her breathePeriod of his life a man becomes too voraciously constantPersist, if thou wouldst truly reach thine endsPerson in another world beyond this world of bloodPerused it, and did not recognize herself in her languagePessimy is invulnerablePetty concessions are signs of weakness to the unsatisfiedPhilip was a Spartan for keeping his feelings underPhilosophy skimmed, and realistic romances deep-soundedPitiful conceit in menPlanting the past in the present like a perceptible ghostPlay second fiddle without looking foolishPlay the great game of blundersPleasant companion, who did not play the woman obtrusively among menPlease to be pathetic on that subject after I am wrinkledPleasure sat like an inextinguishable light on her facePleasure-giving laws that make the curves we recognize as beautyPoetic romance is delusionPolicy seems to petrify their mindsPolished barbarismPolitics as well as the other diseasesPoor mortals are not in the habit of climbing Olympus to askPortrait of himself by the artistPractical for having an addiction to the palpablePractical or not, the good people affectingly wish to bePrayer for an object is the cajolery of an idolPress, which had kindled, proceeded to extinguishedPresumptuous beliefPride is the God of PagansPride in being always myselfPrimitive appetite for noisePrinciple of examining your hypothesis before you proceed to decide by itProcrastination and excessive scrupulousnessProfessional PuritansProfessional widowsProfound belief in her partiality for himPropitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurdProtestant clergy the social police of the English middle-classProvidence and her parents were not forgivenPublished Memoirs indicate the end of a man's activityPuns are the smallpox of the languagePush me to condense my thoughts to a tight ballPush indolent unreason to gain the delusion of happinessPut material aid at a lower mark than gentlenessPut into her woman's harness of the bit and the blinkersPuzzle to connect the foregoing and the succeedingQuestion with some whether idiots should liveQuestion the gain of such an expenditure of energyQuick to understand, she is in the quick of understandingQuixottry is agreeable reading, a silly performanceRage of a conceited schemer trickedRapture of obliviousnessRare men of honour who can command their passionRare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he doesRarely exacted obedience, and she was spontaneously obeyedRead with his eyes when you meet him this morningRead one another perfectly in their mutual hypocrisiesRead deep and not be baffled by inconsistenciesReady is the ardent mind to take footing on the last thing doneReal happiness is a state of dulnessRebellion against society and advocacy of humanity run counterRebukes which give immeasurable reboundsRecalling her to the subject-matter with all the patienceReflection upon a statement is its lightning in advanceRefuge in the Castle of Negation against the whole army of factsRegularity of the grin of dentistryRejoicing they have in their common agreementReligion is the one refuge from womenReligion condones offences: Philosophy has no forgivenessReluctant to take the life of flowers for a whimRemarked that the young men must fight it out togetherRepeatedly, in contempt of the disgust of iterationReproof of such supererogatory counselRequiring natural services from her in the button departmentRespect one another's affectationsRespected the vegetable yet more than he esteemed the flowerRevived for them so much of themselvesRewards, together with the expectations, of the virtuousRhoda will love you. She is firm when she lovesRich and poor 's all right, if I'm rich and you're poorRipe with oft telling and old is the taleRogue on the tremble of detectionRose was much behind her ageRose! what have I done? 'Nothing at all,' she saidRumour for the nonce had a stronger spice of truth than usualSaid she was what she would have given her hand not to beSalt of earth, to whom their salt must serve for nourishmentSatirist too devotedly loves his lash to be a persuasive teacherSatirist is an executioner by professionSays you're so clever you ought to be a manScorn titles which did not distinguish practical officesScorned him for listening to the hesitations (hers)Scotchman's metaphysics; you know nothing clearScreams of an uninjured ladySecond fiddle; he could only mean what she meantSecret of the art was his meaning what he saidSecrets throw on the outsiders the onus of raising a scandalSeed-Time passed thus smoothly, and adolescence came onSelf, was digging pits for comfort to flow inSelf-consoled when they are not self-justifiedSelf-deceiver may be a persuasive deceiver of anotherSelf-incenseSelf-worship, which is often self-distrustSelfishness and icy inaccessibility to emotionSemblance of a tombstone lady beside her lordSense, even if they can't understand it, flatters them soSensitiveness to the sting, which is not allowed to poisonSentimentality puts up infant hands for absolutionSerene presumptionService of watering the dry and drying the damp (Whiskey)Seventy, when most men are reaping and stacking their sinsSham spiritualismShare of foulness to them that are for scouring the chamberShe sought, by looking hard, to understand it betterShe was not his match—To speak would be to succumbShe dealt in the flashes which connect ideasShe had sunk her intelligence in her sensationsShe had no longer anything to resent: she was obliged to weepShe believed friendship practicable between men and womenShe stood with a dignity that the word did not expressShe began to feel that this was life in earnestShe had a fatal attraction for antiquesShe was at liberty to weep if she pleasedShe was unworthy to be the wife of a tailorShe thought that friendship was sweeter than loveShe endured meekly, when there was no meeknessShe ran through delusion and delusion, exhausting eachShe felt in him a maker of factsShe did not detest the Countess because she could not like herShe herself did not like to be seen eating in publicShe marries, and it's the end of her sparklingShe might turn out good, if well guarded for a timeShe had great awe of the word 'business'She disdained to question the mouth which had bitten herShe was perhaps a little the taller of the twoShe was not, happily, one of the women who betray strong feelingShe had to be the hypocrite or else—leapShe had a thirsting mindShe seems honest, and that is the most we can hope of girlsShe was sick of personal freedomShe, not disinclined to dilute her griefShe seemed really a soaring bird brought down by the fowlerShe can make puddens and piesShe was thrust away because because he had offendedShould we leave a good deed half doneShowery, replied the admiral, as his cocked-hat was knocked offShun comparisonsShuns the statuesque pathetic, or any kind of posturingSign that the evil had reached from pricks to pokesSilence was doing the work of a scourgeSilence and such signs are like revelations in black nightSilence was their only protection to the Nice FeelingsSilence is commonly the slow poison used by those who mean to murder loveSimple obstinacy of will sustained herSimple affection must bear the strain of friendship if it canSimplicity is the keenest weaponSincere as far as she knew: as far as one who loves may beSinners are not to repent only in wordsSlap and pinch and starve our appetitesSlave of existing conventionsSlaves of the priestsSleepless nightSlightest taste for comic analysis that does not tumble to farceSmall things producing great consequencesSmall beginnings, which are in reality the mighty barriersSmallest of our gratifications in life could give a happy toneSmart remarks have their measured distancesSmile she had in reserve for serviceable personsSmoky receptacle cherishing millionsSmothered in its pudding-bed of the grotesque (obesity)Snatch her from a possessor who forfeited by undervaluing herSnuffle of hypocrisy in her prayerSo are great deeds judged when the danger's past (as easy)So indulgent when they drop their blot on a lady's characterSo long as we do not know that we are performing any remarkable featSo it is when you play at Life! When you will not go straightSo says the minute Years are before youSo much for morality in those days!So the frog telleth tadpolesSocially and politically mean one thing in the endSoft slumber of a strength never yet called forthSolitude is pasturage for a suspicionSome so-called laws of honourSomething of the hare in us when the hounds are full crySort of religion with her to believe no wrong of youSouth-western Island has few attractions to other than invalidsSpare me that word "female" as long as you liveSpeech that has to be hauled from the depths usually betraysSpeech was a scourge to her sense of hearingSpeech is poor where emotion is extremeSpiritualism, and on the balm that it wasStand not in my way, nor follow me too farStartled by the criticism in laughterState of feverish patriotismStatesman who stooped to conquer fact through fictionStatistics are according to their conjurorsSteady shakes themStory that she believed indeed, but had not quite sensibly feltStrain to see in the utter dark, and nothing can come of thatStraining for common talk, and showing the strainStrength in love is the sole sincerityStrengthening the backbone for a bend of the knee in calamityStultification of one's feelings and ideasStyle is the mantle of greatnessStyle resembling either early architecture or utter dilapidationSubterranean recess for Nature against the Institutions of ManSuch a man was banned by the world, which was to be despised?Suggestion of possible danger might more dangerous than silenceSunning itself in the glass of EnvySuspects all young men and most young womenSuspicion was her best witnessSweet treasure before which lies a dragon sleepingSweetest on earth to her was to be prized by her brotherSwell and illuminate citizen prose to a princely poeticSympathy is for proving, not pratingTaint of the hypocrisy which comes with shameTake 'em somethin' like Providence—as they comeTaking oath, as it were, by their lower natureTale, which leaves the man's mind at homeTask of reclaiming a bad man is extremely seductive to good womenTaste a wound from the lightest touch, and they nurse the venomTears that dried as soon as they had served their endTears are the way of women and their comfortTears of men sink plummet-deepTears of such a man have more of blood than of water in themTelling her anything, she makes half a face in anticipationTendency to polysyllabic phraseologyTenderness which Mrs. Mel permitted rather than encouragedTension of the old links keeping us togetherTerrible decree, that all must act who would prevailThat sort of progenitor is your "permanent aristocracy"That is life—when we dare death to live!That plain confession of a lack of wit; he offered combatThat a mask is a concealmentThat fiery dragon, a beautiful woman with brainsThat which fine cookery does for the cementing of couplesThat beautiful trust which habit givesThat pit of one of their dead silencesThat's the natural shamrock, after the artificialThe burlesque Irishman can't be caricaturedThe greed of gain is our volcanoThe power to give and take flattery to any amountThe worst of it is, that we rememberThe debts we owe ourselves are the hardest to payThe man had to be endured, like other doses in politicsThe brainless in Art and in StatecraftThe sentimentalists are represented by them among the civilizedThe way is clear: we have only to take the stepThe girl could not know her own mind, for she suited him exactlyThe religion of this vast English middle-class—ComfortThe slavery of the love of a woman chainedThe turn will come to us as to others—and goThe woman seeking for an anomaly wants a masterThe defensive is perilous policy in warThe healthy only are fit to liveThe language of party is eloquentThe world without him would be heavy matterThe weighty and the trivial contendedThe rider's too heavy for the horse in EnglandThe greater wounds do not immediately convince us of our fateThe people always wait for the winnerThe defensive is perilous policy in warThe family view is everlastingly the shopkeeper'sThe infant candidate delights in his honestyThe tragedy of the mirror is one for a woman to writeThe worst of omens is delayThe blindness of Fortune is her one meritThe system is cursed by nature, and that means by heavenThe sentimentalist goes on accumulating imagesThe gallant cornet adored delicacy and a gilded refinementThe thrust sinned in its shrewdnessThe ass eats at my table, and treats me with contemptThe Countess dieted the vanity according to the nationalityThe letter had a smack of crabbed age hardly counterfeitThe dismally-lighted city wore a look of Judgement terrible to seeThe well of true wit is truth itselfThe past is our mortal mother, no dead thingThe philosopher (I would keep him back if I could)The unhappy, who do not wish to live, and cannot dieThe woman follows the man, and music fits to verse,The impalpable which has prevailing weightThe face of a stopped watchThe most dangerous word of all—jaThe old confession, that we cannot cook(The English)The night went past as a yearThe effects of the infinitely littleThe homage we pay him flatters usThe backstairs of history (Memoirs)The grey furniture of Time for his natural wearThe beat of a heart with a dread like a shot in itThe good life gone lives on in the mindThe woman side of himThe next ten minutes will decide our destiniesThe terrible aggregate social womanThe shots hit us behind youThe spending, never harvesting, worldThe despot is alert at every issue, to every chanceThe banquet to be fervently remembered, should smokeThe idea of love upon the lips of ordinary men, provoked Dahlia's ironyThe love that survives has strangled cravingThe thought stood in her eyesThe proper defence for a nation is its historyThe born preacher we feel instinctively to be our foeThe danger of a little knowledge of things is disputableThe commonest things are the worst doneThe world is wise in its wayThe Pilgrim's Scrip remarks that: Young men take joy in nothingThe divine afflatus of enthusiasm buoyed her no longerThe king without his crown hath a forehead like the clownThe overwise themselves hoodwinkThe kindest of men can be cruelThe devil trusts nobodyThe majority, however, had been snatched out of this blissThe critic that sneersThe habit of the defensive paralyzes willThe intricate, which she takes for the infiniteThe exhaustion ensuing we named tranquillityThe social world he looked at did not show him heroesThe mildness of assured dictatorshipThe race is for domestic peace, my boyThe embraced respected womanThe divinely damnable naked truth won't wear ornamentsThe alternative is, a garter and the bedpostThe curse of sorrow is comparison!The idol of the hour is the mob's wooden puppetThe circle which the ladies of Brookfield were designingThe wretch who fears death dies multitudinouslyTheir hearts are eaten up by propertyTheir sneer withersTheir not caring to think at allTheir way was down a green lane and across long meadow-pathsTheir idol pitched before them on the floorThen, if you will not tell meThen for us the struggle, for him the griefThere is no first claimThere is no history of events below the surfaceThere is more in men and women than the stuff they utterThere were joy-bells for Robert and Rhoda, but none for DahliaThere is no driver like stomachThere are women who go through life not knowing loveThere is little to be learnt when a little is knownThere is for the mind but one grasp of happinessThere is no step backward in lifeThere may be women who think as well as feel; I don't know themThere's not an act of a man's life lies dead behind himThere's ne'er a worse off but there's a better offThere's nothing like a metaphor for an evasionThey laugh, but they laugh extinguishinglyThey do not live; they are enginesThey helped her to feel at home with herselfThey have not to speak to exhibit their mindsThey have their thinking done for themThey had all noticed, seen, and observedThey, meantime, who had a contempt for sleepThey may know how to make themselves happy in their climateThey are little ironical laughter—AccidentsThey seem to me to be educated to conceal their educationThey dare not. The more I dare, the less dare theyThey miss their pleasure in pursuing itThey take fever for strength, and calmness for submissionThey kissed coldly, pressed a hand, said good nightThey could have pardoned her a younger loverThey create by stoppage a volcanoThey believe that the angels have been busy about themThey have no sensitiveness, we have too muchThey want you to show them what they 'd like the world to beThey're always having to retire and always hissingThings were lumpish and gloomy that day of the weekThings are not equalThirst for the haranguing of crowdsThis was a totally different case from the antecedent onesThis mania of young people for pleasure, eternal pleasureThis female talk of the eternitiesThis love they rattle about and rave aboutThis girl was pliable only to service, not to griefThose who are rescued and made happy by circumstancesThose numerous women who always know themselves to be rightThose who have the careless chatter, the ready laughThose whose humour consists of a readiness to laughThose days of intellectual coxcombryThose happy men who enjoy perceptions without opinionsThose who know little and dread muchThought of differences with him caused frightful apprehensionsThreatened powerful drugs for weak stomachsThreats of prayer, however, that harp upon their sincerityThus are we stricken by the days of our youthThus does Love avenge himself on the unsatisfactory PastTight grasps of the hand, in which there was warmth and shynessTighter than ever I was tight I'll be to-nightTime is due to us, and the minutes are our gold slipping awayTime and strength run to waste in retarding the inevitableTime, whose trick is to turn corners of unanticipated sharpnessTimes when an example is needed by brave menTis the fashion to have our tattle done by machineryTis the first step that makes a pathTitles showered on the women who take free breath of airTo beg the vote and wink the bribeTo most men women are knaves or ninniesTo be a really popular hero anywhere in Britain (must be a drinker)To have no sympathy with the playful mind is not to have a mindTo be passive in calamity is the province of no womanTo let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. Mel's, and a wise oneTo know that you are in England, breathing the same air with meTo kill the deer and be sorry for the suffering wretch is commonTo the rest of the world he was a progressive comedyTo be both generally blamed, and generally likedTo do nothing, is the wisdom of those who have seen fools perishTo hope, and not be impatient, is really to believeTo be her master, however, one must not begin by writhing as her slaveTo time and a wife it is no disgrace for a man to bendTo males, all ideas are female until they are made factsTo know how to take a licking, that wins in the endTongue flew, thought followedToo many time-servers rot the StateToo prompt, too full of personal relish of his pointToo often hangs the house on one loose stoneToo well used to defeat to believe readily in victoryToo weak to resist, to submit to an outrage quietlyTook care to be late, so that all eyes beheld herTooth that received a stone when it expected candyTop and bottom sin is cowardiceTossed him from repulsion to incredulity, and so backTouch him with my hand, before he passed from our sightTouch sin and you accommodate yourself to its vilenessTouching a nerveToyed with little flowers of palest memoryTradesman, and he never was known to have sent in a billTrial of her beauty of a woman in a temperTrick for killing time without hurting himTried to be honest, and was as much so as his disease permittedTroublesome appendages of successTrue enjoyment of the princely dispositionTrue love excludes no natural dutyTrust no man Still, this man may be better than that manTruth is, they have taken a stain from the life they leadTwice a bad thing to turn sinners looseTwisted by a nature that would not allow of open eyesTwo people love, there is no such thing as owing between themTwo principal roads by which poor sinners come to a conscienceTwo wishes make a willUnaccustomed to have his will thwartedUnanimous verdicts from a jury of temporary impressionsUncommon unprogressivenessUnfeminine of any woman to speak continuously anywhereUniversal censor's angry spiteUnseemly hour—unbetimesUnshamed exuberant male has found the sweet reverse in his mateUse your religion like a drugUtterance of generous and patriotic cries is not sufficientVagrant compassionateness of sentimentalistsVanity maketh the strongest most weakVenerated by his followers, well hated by his enemiesVenus of nature was melting into a Venus of artVery little parleying between determined menVessel was conspiring to ruin our self-respectVictims of the modern feminine 'ideal'Violent summons to accept, which is a provocation to denyVirtue of impatienceVirtuously zealous in an instant on behalf of the lovely dameVowed never more to repeat that offence to his patienceVulgarity in others evoked vulgarity in herWait till the day's ended before you curse your luckWaited serenely for the certain disasters to enthrone herWakening to the claims of others—Youth's infant conscienceWant of courage is want of senseWar is only an exaggerated form of duellingWarm, is hardly the word—Winter's warm on skatesWas born on a hired bedWas I true? Not so very false, yet how far from truth!Was not one of the order whose Muse is the Public TasteWatch, and waitWe shall want a war to teach the country the value of courageWe don't go together into a garden of rosesWe were unarmed, and the spectacle was distressingWe are good friends till we quarrel againWe grew accustomed to periods of Irish feverWe have come to think we have a claim upon her gratitudeWe women can read men by their power to loveWe trust them or we crush themWe cannot relinquish an idea that was oursWe has long overshadowed "I"We must have some excuse, if we would keep to lifeWe like well whatso we have done good work forWe could row and ride and fish and shoot, and breed largelyWe dare not be weak if we wouldWe cannot, men or woman, control the heart in sleep at nightWe can't hope to have what should beWe have a system, not planned but grownWe are chiefly led by hopeWe never see peace but in the features of the deadWe live alone, and do not much feel it till we are visitedWe do not see clearly when we are trying to deceiveWe deprive all renegades of their spiritual titlesWe have now looked into the hazy interior of their systemsWe are, in short, a civilized peopleWe can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw backWe make our taskmasters of those to whom we have done a wrongWe must fawn in societyWe shall go together; we shall not have to weep for one anotherWe shall not be rich—nor poorWe don't know we are in halvesWe're all of us hit at last, and generally by our own weaponWe're smitten to-day in our hearts and our pocketsWe're a peaceful people, but 'ware who touches usWe're treated like old-fashioned ornaments!We've all a parlous lot too much pulpit in usWeak stomach is certainly more carnally virtuous than a full oneWeak souls are much moved by having the pathos on their sideWeak reeds who are easily vanquished and never overcomeWeather and women have some resemblance they sayWeighty little word—woman's native watchdog and guardian (No!)Welcomed and lured on an adversary to wild outhittingWell, sir, we must sell our opiumWelsh blood is queer bloodWent into endless invalid's laughterWere I chained, For liberty I would sell libertyWhat will be thought of me? not a small matter to any of usWhat a man hates in adversity is to see 'faces'What else is so consolatory to a ruined man?What a stock of axioms young people have handyWhat the world says, is what the wind saysWhat was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexingWhat he did, she took among other inevitable mattersWhat a woman thinks of women, is the test of her natureWhat ninnies call Nature in booksWhat might have beenWhat's an eccentric? a child grown grey!When we see our veterans tottering to their fallWhen he's a Christian instead of a ChurchmanWhen you run away, you don't live to fight another dayWhen Love is hurt, it is self-love that requires the opiateWhen to loquacious fools with patience rare I listenWhen testy old gentlemen could commit slaughter with ecstasyWhen we despair or discolour things, it is our senses in revoltWhen you have done laughing with her, you can laugh at herWhen duelling flourished on our land, frail women powerfulWhere one won't and can't, poor t' other mustWhere fools are the fathers of every miracleWhere love exists there is goodnessWhere she appears, the first person falls to second rankWhere heart weds mind, or nature joins intellectWhimpering fits you said we enjoy and must have in booksWho beguiles so much as Self?Who shuns true friends flies fortune in the concreteWho venerate when they loveWho rises from Prayer a better man, his prayer is answeredWho cannot talk!—but who can?Who so intoxicated as the convalescent catching at health?Who in a labyrinth wandereth without clueWho cries, Come on, and prays his gods you won'tWho shrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubtWho enjoyed simple things when commanding the luxuriesWho ever loved that loved not at first sight?Who can really think, and not think hopefully?Whole body of fanatics combined to precipitate the devotionWhose bounty was worse to him than his abuseWhy he enjoyed the privilege of seeing, and was not beside herWhy, he'll snap your head off for a wordWhy should these men take so much killing?Wife and no wife, a prisoner in libertyWilfrid perceived that he had become an old manWill not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinionWilliam John Fleming was simply a poor farmerWin you—temperately, let us hope; by storm, if need beWinds of panic are violently engaged in occupying the vacuumWins everywhere back a reflection of its own kindlinessWinter mornings are divine. They move on noiselesslyWise in not seeking to be too wiseWith what little wisdom the world is governedWith a proud humilityWith one idea, we see nothing—nothing but itselfWith a frozen fish of admirable principles for wifeWith good wine to wash it down, one can swallow anythingWith death; we'd rather not, because of a qualmWith that I sail into the darkWith this money, said the demon, you might speculateWithdrew into the entrenchments of contemptWithout a single intimation that he loathed the taskWithout those consolatory efforts, useless between menWits, which are ordinarily less productive than landWives are only an item in the list, and not the most importantWoman finds herself on board a rudderless vesselWoman will be the last thing civilized by ManWoman descending from her ideal to the gross reality of manWoman's precious word No at the sentinel's post, and alertWomen are happier enslavedWomen are taken to be the second thoughts of the CreatorWomen with brains, moreover, are all heartlessWomen must not be judging things out of their sphereWomen don't care uncommonly for the men who love themWomen treat men as their tamed housematesWomen are wonderfully quick scholars under ridiculeWomen and men are in two hostile campsWomen are swift at coming to conclusions in these mattersWon't do to be taking in reefs on a lee-shoreWonderment that one of her sex should have ideasWooing a good man for his friendshipWooing her with dog's eyes instead of wordsWork of extravagance upon perceptibly plain matterWork is medicineWorld voluntarily opens a path to those who step determinedlyWorld cannot pardon a breach of continuityWorld is ruthless, dear friends, because the world is hypocriteWorld against us It will not keep us from trying to serveWorld prefers decorum to honestyWould he see what he aims at? let him ask his heelsWould like to feel he was doing a bit of goodWrapped in the comfort of his cowardiceWriter society delights in, to show what it is composed ofYawns coming alarmingly fast, in the place of ideasYears are the teachers of the great rocky naturesYet, though Angels smile, shall not Devils laughYou want me to flick your indecisionYou saw nothing but handkerchiefs out all over the theatreYou are to imagine that they know everythingYou can master pain, but not doubtYou may learn to know yourself through loveYou do want polishYou who may have cared for her through her many tribulations, have no fearYou choose to give yourself to an obscure dogYou are not married, you are simply chainedYou played for gain, and that was a licenced thievingYou talk your mother with a vengeanceYou have not to be told that I desire your happiness above allYou are entreated to repress alarmYou accuse or you exonerate—Nobody can be half guiltyYou rides when you can, and you walks when you mustYou beat me with the fists, but my spirit is toweringYou'll have to guess at half of everything he tells youYou'll tell her you couldn't sit down in her presence undressedYou're going to be men, meaning something better than womenYou're a rank, right-down widow, and no mistakeYou're talking to me, not to a galleryYou're the puppet of your women!You've got no friend but your bedYoung as when she looked upon the lovers in ParadiseYour devotion craves an enormous exchangeYouth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go togetherYouth is not alarmed by the sound of big sums