People make one happy, not houses? I do not think so. Houses are more to be trusted than people.

Clergymen have much the same in their breeches as other men.

When men are scared of a woman, they always accuse her of being mannish.

It is all very well, when the pen flows, but then there are the dark days when imagination deserts one, and it is an effort to put anything down on paper. That little you have achieved stares at you at the end of the day, and you know the next morning you will have to scrape it down and start again.

There are people who may be trusted, men as well as women. There are are as many difference in their natures as there are flowers in these meadows.

The trouble with lies was that once started, the fiction had to be continued, and it was hard always to be remembering details that you had made up upon the spur of the moment.

It is a sadness of growing older that some of us lose our ardent appreciation of what is new and different and difficult.