| Quote | Source | Email Quote |
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| "How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood |  |
| "You are always training yourself to be, mind and body, as clear as crystal, and you always are, and never change; whereas I am a muddy, solitary, moping weed." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "The cramped monotony of my existence grinds me away by the grain." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "Circumstances may accumulate so strongly even against an innocent man, that directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now - but you will not - you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| . . . still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "Is there no difference," asked Helena, with a little faltering in her manner; "between submission to a generous spirit, and submission to a base or trivial one?" | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| But Rosa soon made the discovery that Miss Twinkleton didn't read fairly. She cut the love-scenes, interpolated passages in praise of female celibacy, and was guilty of other glaring pious frauds. | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
| "Mr. Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid about him with a flail, a pitch-fork, and every agricultural implement available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's having written a play." | The Mystery of Edwin Drood | |
