He Is My First Olive:

A Solitary Life Cherishes Mere Fancies Until They Become Manias.

What Other People May Think Of The Rightness Or Wrongness Is Nothing In Comparison To My Own Deep Knowledge, My Innate Conviction That It Was Wrong.

She Lay Down And Never Stirred. To Move Hand Or Foot, Or Even So Much As One Finger, Would Have Been An Exertion Beyond The Powers Of Either Volition Or Motion. She Was So Tired, So Stunned, That She Thought She Never Slept At All; Her Feverish Thoughts Passed And Repassed The Boundary Between Sleeping And Waking, And Kept Their Own Miserable Identity.

But Suppose It Was Truth Double Strong, It Were No Truth To Me If I Couldna Take It In. I Daresay There's Truth In Yon Latin Book On Your Shelves; But It's Gibberish And No Truth To Me, Unless I Know The Meaning O' The Words.

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.