A Mr. (save, Perhaps, Some Half Dozen

The Memory Is Sometimes So Retentive, So Serviceable, So Obedient-at Others So Bewildered And Weak-and At Others Again, So Tyrannic, So Beyond Control!

Undoubtedly ... There Is A Meanness In All The Arts Which Ladies Sometimes Condescend To Employ For Captivation. What Bears Affinity To Cunning Is Despicable.

We Can All Begin Freely—a Slight Preference Is Natural Enough; But There Are Very Few Of Us Who Have Heart Enough To Be Really In Love Without Encouragement.

There Seems Almost A General Wish Of Descrying The Capacity And Undervaluing The Labour Of The Novelist, And Of Slighting The Performances Which Have Only Genius, Wit, And Taste To Recommend Them.

If This Man Had Not Twelve Thousand A Year, He Would Be A Very Stupid Fellow.