1 His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed.
2 It was a marvellous spotted thing, as effective as the seven deadly sins.
3 For all sins, as theologians weary not of reminding us, are sins of disobedience.
4 The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification.
5 The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification.
6 There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to earth as well as to heaven.
7 What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the canvas.
8 It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also.
9 They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins.
10 Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
11 You will soon be going about like the converted, and the revivalist, warning people against all the sins of which you have grown tired.
12 It seemed to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the delicate sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb show before him.
13 There were opium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.
14 I felt that this grey monstrous London of ours, with its myriads of people, its sordid sinners, and its splendid sins, as you once phrased it, must have something in store for me.
15 Some love might come across his life, and purify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed to be already stirring in spirit and in flesh--those curious unpictured sins whose very mystery lent them their subtlety and their charm.
16 There were sins whose fascination was more in the memory than in the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride more than the passions, and gave to the intellect a quickened sense of joy, greater than any joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the senses.
17 He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood.
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