You Don't Talk Quite Like A Girl

He Looked And Smelt Like Autumn's Very Brother, His Face Being Sunburnt To Wheat-colour, His Eyes Blue As Corn-flowers, His Sleeves And Leggings Dyed With Fruit-stains, His Hands Clammy With The Sweet Juice Of Apples, His Hat Sprinkled With Pips, And Everywhere About Him The Sweet Atmosphere Of Cider Which At Its First Return Each Season Has Such An Indescribable Fascination For Those Who Have Been Born And Bred Among The Orchards.

There Is Always An Inertia To Be Overcome In Striking Out A New Line Of Conduct – Not More In Ourselves, It Seems, Than In Circumscribing Events, Which Appear As If Leagued Together To Allow No Novelties In The Way Of Amelioration.

He's Charmed By Her As If She Were Some Fairy!" Continued Arabella. "see How He Looks Round At Her, And Lets His Eyes Rest On Her. I Am Inclined To Think That She Don't Care For Him Quite So Much As He Does For Her. She's Not A Particular Warm-hearted Creature To My Thinking, Though She Cares For Him Pretty Middling Much-- As Much As She's Able To; And He Could Make Her Heart Ache A Bit If He Liked To Try--which He's Too Simple To Do.

Of Course Poets Have Morals And Manners Of Their Own, And Custom Is No Argument With Them.

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