I don't know what imagination is, if not an unpruned, tangled kind of memory.

Pukka sahib or rank outsider--gentleman or bounder--and it's accent, accent, all the way.

A woman can't be, until a girl dies. . . . I mean the sprites that girls are, so different from us, all their fancies, their illusions, their flower world, the dreams they live in.

I do not want to go to heaven; I want my children, forever children, and other children, stalwart adults, and a good happy wife, that is all I ask, but not paradise; earth is good enough for me: it is because I believe earth is heaven, Naden, that I can overcome all my troubles and face down my enemies.

There are so may ways to kills yourself, they're just old-fashioned with their permanganate: do you think I'd take permanganate? I wouldn't want to burn my insides out and live to tell the tale as well: idiots! It's simple, I'd drown myself... Why be in misery at the last?

We are primitive men; we taboo what we desire and need. How did the denying of love come to be associated with the idea of morality.

I don't know what imagination is, if not an unpruned, tangled kind of memory.