Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

Well, yes: people write poems when they are in love, but a wise man will not print them.

Each soldier was the living image of the others, but there was one who was a bit different. He had only one leg, for he was the last to be cast and the tin had run out. Still, there he stood, just as steadfast on his one leg as the others on their two; and he is the tin soldier we are going to hear about.

The wiser a man becomes, the more he will read, and those who are wisest read most.

A human life is a story told by God.

Now, if we only had as many casks of butter as there are people here, then I would eat lots of butter!

Many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea.