Thinking Has, Many A Time, Made Me

I Daresay It Seems Foolish; Perhaps All Our Earthly Trials Will Appear Foolish To Us After A While; Perhaps They Seem So Now To Angels. But We Are Ourselves, You Know, And This Is Now, Not Some Time To Come, A Long, Long Way Off. And We Are Not Angels, To Be Comforted By Seeing The Ends For Which Everything Is Sent.

How Was It That He Haunted Her Imagination So Persistently? What Could It Be? Why Did She Care For What He Thought, In Spite Of All Her Pride In Spite Of Herself? She Believed That She Could Have Borne The Sense Of Almighty Displeasure, Because He Knew All, And Could Read Her Penitence, And Hear Her Cries For Help In Time To Come. But Mr.thornton-why Did She Tremble, And Hide Her Face In The Pillow? What Strong Feeling Had Overtaking Her At Last?

What's The Use Of Watching? A Watched Pot Never Boils.

He Could Remember All About It Now; The Pitiful Figure He Must Have Cut; The Absurd Way In Which He Had Gone And Done The Very Thing He Had So Often Agreed With Himself In Thinking Would Be The Most Foolish Thing In The World; And Had Met With Exactly The Consequences Which, In These Wise Moods, He Had Always Foretold Were Certain To Follow, If He Ever Did Make Such A Fool Of Himself.

I Am So Tired - So Tired Of Being Of Being Whirled On Through All These Phases Of My Life, In Which Nothing Abides By Me, No Creature, No Place; It Is Like The Circle In Which The Victims Of Earthly Passion Eddy Continually.