“He fumed like a bottled storm.”

“I soon forgot storm in music.”

“you may fume and fidget as you please: but this is the best plan to pursue with you, I am certain. I like youmore than I can say; but I’ll not sink into a bathos of sentiment: and with this needle of repartee I’ll keep youfrom the edge of the gulf too; and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid that distance between you and myself most conducive to our real mutual advantage.”

“What good it would have done me at that time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling like, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I now repined!”

“Writers cannot choose their own mood: with them it is not always hide-tide, nor --thank Heaven!--always Storm.”

“Do you like him much?'I told you I liked him a little. Where is the use of caring for him so very much: he is full of faults.'Is he?'All boys are.”

“The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky was a woman’s shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection like moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.”