Beauty Lay Not In The Thing, But

In The Ill-judged Execution Of The Well-judged Plan Of Things The Call Seldom Produces The Comer, The Man To Love Rarely Coincides With The Hour For Loving. Nature Does Not Often Say 'see!' To Her Poor Creature At A Time When Seeing Can Lead To Happy Doing; Or Reply 'here!' To A Body's Cry Of 'where?' Till The Hide-and-seek Has Become An Irksome Outworn Game.

Women Are Attracted To Silent Men. They Believe They Are Listening.

Ladies Know What To Guard Against, Because They Read Novels That Tell Them Of These Tricks.

Pessimism Is Playing The Sure Game. You Cannot Lose At It; You May Gain. It Is The Only View Of Life In Which You Can Never Be Disappointed. Having Reckoned What To Do In The Worst Possible Circumstances, When Better Arise, As They May, Life Becomes Child's Play.

Her Affection For Him Was Now The Breath And Life Of Tess's Being; It Enveloped Her As A Photosphere, Irradiated Her Into Forgetfulness Of Her Past Sorrows, Keeping Back The Gloomy Spectres That Would Persist In Their Attempts To Touch Her—doubt, Fear, Moodiness, Care, Shame. She Knew That They Were Waiting Like Wolves Just Outside The Circumscribing Light, But She Had Long Spells Of Power To Keep Them In Hungry Subjection There.