Time can make soft that iron wood.

[on going to Sunday school:] It looks like rain, and I hope it will rain cats and dogs and hammers and pitchforks and silver sugar spoons and hay ricks and paper-covered novels and picture frames and rag carpets and toothpicks and skating rinks and birds of paradise and roof gardens and burdocks and French grammars before Sunday school time.

Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly That I might eat again, and met thy sneers With deprecations, and thy blows with tears.

A grave is such a quiet place.

And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.

Here's a song was never sung: Growing old is dying young.

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!