Beautiful women in her position provoke an intemperateness
Capricious potentate whom they worship
Circumstances may combine to make a whisper as deadly as a blow
Compared the governing of the Irish to the management of a horse
Could have designed this gabbler for the mate
Debit was eloquent, he was unanswerable
Explaining of things to a dull head
Happy in privation and suffering if simply we can accept beauty
He gained much by claiming little
Her peculiar tenacity of the sense of injury
His ridiculous equanimity
Keep passion sober, a trotter in harness
Moral indignation is ever consolatory
Omnipotence, which is in the image of themselves
Strain to see in the utter dark, and nothing can come of that
Tendency to polysyllabic phraseology
The blindness of Fortune is her one merit
They have no sensitiveness, we have too much
Top and bottom sin is cowardice
Touch him with my hand, before he passed from our sight
We must fawn in society
We never see peace but in the features of the dead