Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose.

The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights.

The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

Mothers and daughters are part of each other's consciousness, in different degrees and in a different way, but still with the mutual sense of something which has always been there. A real mother is just a habit of thought to her children.

People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.

Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.