The more enchanted the idyll, greater must be the pain of its ending.

Judging from the letters I've received from obviously feeble-minded persons who wish I would write another These Old Shades, it ought to sell like hot cakes.

My house seems remarkably full of people," he observed. "Is it possible we were expected.

Is it not insupportable to be held down to a canter when you long to gallop for miles?

Talking to you is like -- like talking to an eel!" "No, is it? I've never tried to talk to an eel. Isn't it as waste of time?" "Not such a waste of time as talking to you!

I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense.... But it's unquestionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter or recovering from flu.

Do you forget that I am your sister?” “No; I’ve never been granted the opportunity to forget it.