This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.

I never see that prettiest thing- A cherry bough gone white with Spring- But what I think, "How gay 'twould be To hang me from a flowering tree.

Oh, seek, my love, your newer way; I'll not be left in sorrow. So long as I have yesterday, Go take your damned tomorrow!

...as for helping me in the outside world, the Convent taught me only that if you spit on a pencil eraser, it will erase ink.

At birth the Devil touched my tongue.

Four be the things I'd have been better without: love, curiosity, freckles and doubt.

There's a hell of a distance between wisecracking and wit. Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.