Nature always levies her tribute.

I write as the birds sing, because I must, and usually from the same source of inspiration.

What was money that it should make such dreadful things of men and women?

Every intoxicating delight of early spring was in the air. The breeze that fanned her cheek was laden with subtle perfume and the crisp, fresh odor of unfolding leaves.

Being dead was one thing, getting ready for a wedding another.

I know men and women. An honourable man is an honourable man, and a liar is a liar; both are born and not made. One cannot change to the other any more than that same old leopard can change its spots. After a man tells a woman the first untruth of that sort, the others come piling thick, fast, and mountain high.

The seasons run with swift feet.