Oh, wise young judge.

Was I the only woman in the world who, at my age - and after a lifetime of quite rampant independence - still did not quite feel grown up?

Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.

Wakings are the worst times--almost before my eyes are open a great weight seems to roll on my heart.

So many of the loveliest things in England are melancholy.

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

I only want to write. And there's no college for that except life.