Never sign a valentine with your own name.

Why am I always at war with myself? Why have I told, as if upon compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to have withheld? Why am I making a friend of this woman beside me, in spite of the whispers against her that I hear in my heart?

If you could see my legs when I take my boots off, you'd form some idea of what unrequited affection is.

I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys and beef-faced boys.

I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age.

"It's nothing," returned Mrs Chick. "It's merely change of weather. We must expect change."

I think it impossible, utterly impossible, for any Englishman to live here [in America], and be happy.