... without it (love), without, anyhow, the capacity for it, people didn't seem to be much good. Dry as old bones, cold as stones, they seemed to become, when love was done; inhuman, indifferent, self-absorbed, numb.

... Why, it would really be being unselfish to go away and be happy for a little, because we would come back so much nicer.

I have been much afflicted again lately by visitors . . . and they gave me to understand that if they had had the arranging of the garden it would have been finished long ago - whereas I don't believe a garden is ever finished. They have all gone now, thank heaven.

Well, I for one am unable to imagine how anybody who lives with an intelligent and devoted dog can every be lonely.

Home is the best place when life begins to wobble.

Life is an admirable arrangement, isn't it, little mother. It is so clever of it to have June in every year and a morning in every day, let alone things like birds, and Shakespeare, and one's work.

if you have once thoroughly bored somebody it is next to impossible to unbore him.