Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!

For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can rightly depend on.

I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us. A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

Once again...welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.

I suppose a cry does us all good at times-clears the air as other rain does.

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.

Love is, after all, a selfish thing; and it throws a black shadow on anything between which and the light it stands.