A country of compromise goes to pieces at the first cannon-shot
A lady's company-smile
A superior position was offered her by her being silent
A whisper of cajolery in season is often the secret
A contented Irishman scarcely seems my countryman
Ah! we're in the enemy's country now
And it's one family where the dog is pulled by the collar
Arch-devourer Time
As secretive as they are sensitive
As if she had never heard him previously enunciate the formula
Be politic and give her elbow-room for her natural angles
Beautiful women may believe themselves beloved
Becoming air of appropriation that made it family history
Constitutionally discontented
Could peruse platitudes upon that theme with enthusiasm
Decency's a dirty petticoat in the Garden of Innocence
England's the foremost country of the globe
Enjoys his luxuries and is ashamed of his laziness
Fires in the grates went through the ceremony of warming nobody
Foamy top is offered and gulped as equivalent to an idea
Foist on you their idea of your idea at the moment
Grimaces at a government long-nosed to no purpose
Hard men have sometimes a warm affection for dogs
He judged of others by himself
He was not alive for his own pleasure
Hear victorious lawlessness appealing solemnly to God the law
Her aspect suggested the repose of a winter landscape
Here, where he both wished and wished not to be
Hug the hatred they packed up among their bundles
I never saw out of a doll-shop, and never saw there
I 'm the warming pan, as legitimately I should be
I detest enthusiasm
I baint done yet
Indirect communication with heaven
Ireland 's the sore place of England
Irishman there is a barrow trolling a load of grievances
Irishmen will never be quite sincere
Irony in him is only eulogy standing on its head
Lack of precise words admonished him of the virtue of silence
Loudness of the interrogation precluded thought of an answer
Love the children of Erin, when not fretted by them
Loves his poets, can almost understand what poetry means
Married at forty, and I had to take her shaped as she was
May lull themselves with their wakefulness
Men must fight: the law is only a quieter field for them
Mika! you did it in cold blood?
Never forget that old Ireland is weeping
No man can hear the words which prove him a prophet (quietly)
Not every chapter can be sunshine
Not likely to be far behind curates in besieging an heiress
Not the great creatures we assume ourselves to be
Not so much read a print as read the imprinting on themselves
Not to bother your wits, but leave the puzzle to the priest
Nursing of a military invalid awakens tenderer anxieties
Old houses are doomed to burnings
Our lawyers have us inside out, like our physicians
Paying compliments and spoiling a game!
Philip was a Spartan for keeping his feelings under
Secret of the art was his meaning what he said
Suggestion of possible danger might more dangerous than silence
Taste a wound from the lightest touch, and they nurse the venom
Tears of men sink plummet-deep
Tears of such a man have more of blood than of water in them
That fiery dragon, a beautiful woman with brains
The race is for domestic peace, my boy
They laugh, but they laugh extinguishingly
Time, whose trick is to turn corners of unanticipated sharpness
Twisted by a nature that would not allow of open eyes
We're all of us hit at last, and generally by our own weapon
We're smitten to-day in our hearts and our pockets
Welsh blood is queer blood
Where one won't and can't, poor t' other must
Winds of panic are violently engaged in occupying the vacuum
With a frozen fish of admirable principles for wife
With death; we'd rather not, because of a qualm
Withdrew into the entrenchments of contempt
Woman's precious word No at the sentinel's post, and alert
Would like to feel he was doing a bit of good
You'll tell her you couldn't sit down in her presence undressed