Their strong passions must either bruise or bend.

They either slay the man, or themselves die.

Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on.

The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.
Besides, he had convinced himself that he had been the victim of a terror-stricken imagination, and looked back now on his fears with something of pity and not a little of contempt.
After breakfast, he walked with the duchess for an hour in the garden and then drove across the park to join the shooting-party.

The crisp frost lay like salt upon the grass.