I'm a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.

She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.

But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths, or later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!

Doctor, you don't know what it is to doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don't; you couldn't with eyebrows like yours.

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

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.

Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.