Writers Cannot Choose Their Own Mood: With

Who Has Words At The Right Moment?

I Don't Call You Handsome, Sir, Though I Love You Most Dearly: Far Too Dearly To Flatter You. Don't Flatter Me.

I Am Not An Angel,' I Asserted; 'and I Will Not Be One Till I Die: I Will Be Myself. Mr. Rochester, You Must Neither Expect Nor Exact Anything Celestial Of Me - For You Will Not Get It, Any More Than I Shall Get It Of You: Which I Do Not At All Anticipate.

If He Were Insane, However, His Was A Very Cool And Collected Insanity.

I Was No Pope - I Could Not Boast Infallibility.