My mother, if she knew--she who is so indulgent--would be so unhappy.

I know that our love exists with the reprobation of all that is wise and just and is condemned by my mother's tears.

But what's the use of being ashamed any more?
Mother, if you knew, you would have pity on my happiness." "You are naughty," he murmured feebly.
She stroked the man's forehead lightly, and said in a tone of extraordinary assurance: "You know I don't deserve to be called naughty.

You know what I am saying is above a personal application.

You know better than I do that one is alone.