She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.

Religion is the opium of the poor.

I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word.

Somebody just back of you while you are fishing is as bad as someone looking over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl.

You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?

People who write fiction, if they had not taken it up, might have become very successful liars.

Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.