And at last father flung the rug off as if it were hampering him and strode over to the table saying, 'cocoa, cocoa!'-- it might have been the most magnificent drink in the world; which, personally, I think it is.

Rose doesn’t like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.

I shouldn't think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.

Perhaps what you call conventionality, I call decency.

Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.

Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I could marry the Devil himself if he had some money.