My Only Books Were Woman's

Of All Sound Of All Bells... Most Solemn And Touching Is The Peal Which Rings Out The Old Year.

To Be Sick Is To Enjoy Monarchical Prerogatives.

Alas! How Light A Cause May Move Dissension Between Hearts That Love! Hearts That The World In Vain Had Tried, And Sorrow But More Closely Tied; That Stood The Storm When Waves Were Rough, Yet In A Sunny Hour Fall Off, Like Ships That Have Gone Down At Sea When Heaven Was All Tranquillity.

When I Am Not Walking, I Am Reading. I Cannot Sit And Think.

You Do Not Play Then At Whist, Sir? Alas, What A Sad Old Age You Are Preparing For Yourself!