The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
To her, the name of father was another name for love.
Hoary-headed old Winter, I have had enough of you!
I dare say you will try to make me believe that Editors are human. Now I deny that, for I myself have, in past days, had evidence to the contrary.
One person is as good as another in New England, and better, too.
I am getting sick of people. I am falling in love with things. They hold their tongues.