a woman with a secret may be a fascinating study, but she can never be a safe, nor even satisfactory, companion.

It was the smile which runs before a promise.

There is no suffering like a child's, terrified by a secret which it dare not for some reason disclose.

The finger of suspicion never forgets the way it has once pointed.

He who steps on stones is glad to feel the smallest spray of moss beneath his feet.

Do we fear suffering or apathy most? Is it from experience or the monotony of a commonplace existence that we quickest flee?

Though I have had no adventures, I feel capable of them.