The pretty pimpled young man, no longer a boy, came down from the imperial box in his purple to the performers’ well which debouched into the arena.

So when friends are lied into distrust of each other, and the rubicon has been passed, either by the death of one, or that the light of truth will not break in upon the mist resting upon the other, … at a day too late a discovery arises, and the perpetrators of this fruitless crime, console themselves with the saying that it was all for the sufferer's good.[]

[T]he ‘happiness utile’ does not exist, at least not yet.

Now, suppose another veterinarian should come along with another medicine, named “Goine;” and that a quart of it would make a horse go twice as fast, and you should dope the horse with both medicines […]