Stew's so comforting on a rainy day.

Perhaps what you call conventionality, I call decency.

Still, looking through the old volumes was soothing, because thinking of the past made the present seem a little less real.

I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

The family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.

Ah, but you're the insidious type--Jane Eyre with of touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl.

People's clothes ought to be buried with them.