emember the sorrow of thine own wife

Remember your own sins before you
charge others

Rewarded for its mistakes

Romance is an incident to a man

Sacrifice to the god of the pin-hole

Sardonic pleasure in the miseries of
the world

Saw how futile was much competition

Saying uncomfortable things in a
deferential way

Scoundrel, too weak to face the
consequences of his sin

Secret of life: to keep your own
commandments

Self-will, self-pride, and
self-righteousness were big in him

She lacked sense a little and
sensitiveness much

She was not to be forced to answer his
arguments directly

She knew what to say and what to leave
unsaid

She was beginning to understand that
evil is not absolute

She valued what others found useless

She wasn't young, but she seemed so

She had not suffered that sickness,
social artifice

She had provoked love, but had never
given it

She had never stooped to conquer

Should not make our own personal
experience a law unto the world

Shure, if we could always be 'about the
same,' we'd do

Simply to have death renewed every
morning

Slander ever scorches where it touches

Slow-footed hours wandered by, leaving
apathy in their train

Smiling was part of his equipment

So say your prayers, believe all you
can, don't ask questions

Solitude fixes our hearts immovably on
things

Some people are rough with the
poor--and proud

Some wise men are fools, one way or
another

Some are hurt in one way and some in
another

Sometimes the longest way round is the
shortest way home

Soul tortured through different degrees
of misunderstanding

Spurting out little geysers of other
people's cheap wisdom

Still the end of your existence, I
rejoined--to be amused?

Strike first and heal after--"a kick
and a lick"

Struggle of conscience and expediency

Surely she might weep a little for
herself

Suspicion, the bane of sick old age

Sympathy, with curiousness in their
eyes and as much inhumanity

Sympathy and consolation might be much
misplaced

Thanked him in her heart for the things
he had left unsaid

That anxious civility which beauty can
inspire

That iceberg which most mourners carry
in their breasts

That he will find the room empty where
I am not

The Government cherish the Injin much
in these days

The Injin speaks the truth,
perhaps--eye of red man multiplies

The blind tyranny of the just

The soul of goodness