“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] “You told me it wouldn’t hurt...” [...] Jane had agreed to do something that wouldn’t hurt, but it did. [...]

[...] Something she wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t insisted. [...]

[...] I was beginning to think she wouldn’t have a session when she told me to get my paper.)

[...] I wouldn’t mind Seth commenting on my own evolving views of parenthood sometime.

(“That wouldn’t keep you awake any more than trying to have a session,” I said. [...]

[...] Jane was nodding in her chair as I finished, and I thought she wouldn’t be doing any work this evening after all. [...]

[...] He told us often that while he liked a good idea “no matter where it came from,” he wouldn’t use Seth’s name in conversations with others, but would try to work in Seth’s ideas under the guise of others’ works. [...]

[...] We would add that the books alone would indicate how different our thinking was from the usual, and that the visitor wouldn’t find us agreeing with much of what they might want to say. [...]

[...] She recalled that once Seth said that if he’d come through as a woman she wouldn’t have stood for it. [...]

[...] But the church wouldn’t approve of Seth, I said. [...]

[...] I glanced out the window and saw the ground bare of snow, and thought that I wouldn’t have to shovel snow. [...]

[...] I knew we wouldn’t consent to going back to rehab. [...]

[...] I wanted the paintings to be priced so people might buy them, but he said that wouldn’t be proper in a funeral home. [...]

[...] She had said earlier they would merely give indications that vasculitis might be present or might not be present—they wouldn’t say yes or no. [...]

[...] Dr. K. told us Jane wouldn’t feel any results from the 100 mcg Synthroid tablets she started on last Monday for a long time—that the effects from the increased dosage were “weeks away.” [...]

[...] She used to think that “if I used my body all the way, I wouldn’t work — which is hysterical, because now I do hardly anything.” [...]

[...] I told her that at lunch time John Bumbalo had called and said that his father wouldn’t be going home for a while: the doctor has found an infection in a lung. [...]

[...] I tried to move her right foot down a bit, to make her more comfortable, but it wouldn’t go. [...]

[...] We took her into the commode, but she wouldn’t lie down after going to the john. [...]

[...] [He wouldn’t tell me who the personality is.] I’m David’s uncle.

[...] It then became evident that a lot of her poor feelings lately have been connected to worries over work, what Prentice-Hall would or wouldn’t publish, etc.—an old reaction that I should have been more prepared for, I guess, but had lost sight of in our day-to-day hassles. [...]

[...] She wouldn’t say the effort was her very best, but it was certainly close to it—an excellent sign. [...]

[...] “You wouldn’t get anything done on Dreams if you had to type longer sessions,” she added. [...]

[...] I’d turned off the nurse’s call light early in the session, hoping we wouldn’t be interrupted.)

[...] Jane most forcefully told the kids that she wouldn’t, and that she didn’t want such suggestions. [...]