Faultless In Spite Of All Her Faults.

I Cannot Help Thinking That It Is More Natural To Have Flowers Grow Out Of The Head Than Fruit.

We Must Consider What Miss. Fairfax Quits, Before We Condemn Her Taste For What She Goes To.

The Little Bit (two Inches Wide) Of Ivory On Which I Work With So Fine A Brush As Produces Little Effect After Much Labour.

In Every Power, Of Which Taste Is The Foundation, Excellence Is Pretty Fairly Divided Between The Sexes.

A Man Would Always Wish To Give A Woman A Better Home Than The One He Takes Her From; And He Who Can Do It, Where There Is No Doubt Of Her Regard, Must, I Think, Be The Happiest Of Mortals.