Haven’t you ever seen her?

How you ever get anything done is beyond me.

Mrs. Smith, who was a very large clean woman, said Liz Coates was the neatest girl she’d ever seen.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven⁠—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax.

This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”⁠—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.