"would You, Do You, My Dear?" Rejoined

It's Not Put Into His Head To Be Buried. It's Put Into His Head To Be Made Useful. You Hold Your Life On The Condition That To The Last You Shall Struggle Hard For It. Every Man Holds A Discovery On The Same Terms.

I Saw That The Bride Within The Bridal Dress Had Withered Like The Dress, And Like The Flowers, And Had No Brightness Left But The Brightness Of Her Sunken Eyes.

I Revere The Memory Of Mr. F. As An Estimable Man And Most Indulgent Husband, Only Necessary To Mention Asparagus And It Appeared Or To Hint At Any Little Delicate Thing To Drink And It Came Like Magic In A Pint Bottle; It Was Not Ecstasy But It Was Comfort.

Discipline Must Be Maintained.

There Is Something Indefinably Keen And Wan About Her Anatomy, And She Has A Watchful Way Of Looking Out Of The Corners Of Her Eyes Without Turning Her Head Which Could Be Pleasantly Dispensed With, Especially When She Is In An Ill Humour And Near Knives. Through All The Good Taste Of Her Dress And Little Adornments, These Objections So Express Themselves That She Seems To Go About Like A Very Neat She-wolf Imperfectly Tamed.