1 How life will be changed, how dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead.
2 I take so little interest in my daily life that I hardly remember to eat and drink.
3 Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter.
4 For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled anguish and humiliation overcame him completely.
5 You have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.
6 We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive.
7 What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close.
8 And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him.
9 On fine evenings the latter followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the court or garden the moment I began; and, as a last resource, cried, and said she was tired of living: her life was useless.
10 Grief, and that together, transformed him into a complete hermit: he threw up his office of magistrate, ceased even to attend church, avoided the village on all occasions, and spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and visits to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or early morning before other wanderers were abroad.