For I doubt not, but if it had been a thing contrary to any mans right of dominion, or to the interest of men that have dominion, That The Three Angles Of A Triangle Should Be Equall To Two Angles Of A Square; that doctrine should have been, if not disputed, yet by the burning of all books of Geometry, suppressed, as farre as he whom it concerned was able.
— from Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes

“You know, sir,” says Blifil, “I never disobeyed you; but I am sorry I mentioned it, since
— from History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding

No - my BURNS is not done yet, it has led me so far afield that I cannot finish it; every time I think I see my way to an end, some new game (or perhaps wild goose) starts up, and away I go.
— from The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson — Volume 1 by Robert Louis Stevenson

I had thought of doing so, but I never dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice.
— from The Title: A Comedy in Three Acts by Arnold Bennett

But I never doubted your word....
— from The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey

No—my Burns is not done yet, it has led me so far afield that I cannot finish it; every time I think I see my way to an end, some new game (or perhaps wild goose) starts up, and away I go.
— from The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 23 by Robert Louis Stevenson

I knew I was taking advantage of your conscience, but I never dreamed you'd carried your remorse so far.
— from The Torch Bearer by Reina Melcher Marquis

I continually caution Caroline not to spend much time in adorning her person; but I never desired you to neglect yours.
— from Mary Wollstonecraft's Original Stories by Mary Wollstonecraft

And because I never did you any harm.”
— from First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales by George Manville Fenn

My business is not done yet.
— from Monks, Popes, and their Political Intrigues by John Alberger

"But I never did you any good," said Jean, puzzled.
— from Jean, Our Little Australian Cousin by Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

"Tell me," he went on, his lips trembling, his voice faltering with the burden of oppressive hope—"tell me, you who behold it now, do you not wed her memory deathlessly to it?
— from Sister Dolorosa, and Posthumous Fame by James Lane Allen