How do people go to sleep? I'm afraid I've lost the knack. I might try busting myself smartly over the temple with the night-light. I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.

And where does she find them?

Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

Brevity is the soul of lingerie.

I hate writing, I love having written.

My land is bare of chattering folk; / the clouds are low along the ridges, / and sweet's the air with curly smoke / from all my burning bridges.