Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
I can draw and write, and you'd be foolish not to hire me.
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
To love without criticism is to be betrayed.
We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
None of us suffers as much as we should, or loves as much as we say. Love is the first lie; wisdom the last.