Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.

You yourself never loved; you never love! Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?

I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.

He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please.

Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.

Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain.

For now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help sooth me.