A little inaccuracy sometimes saves a ton of explanation.

Sherard Blaw, the dramatist who had discovered himself, and who had given so ungrudgingly of his discovery to the world.

Life is full of its disappointments, and I suppose the art of being happy is to disguise them as illusions.

His socks compelled one's attention without losing one's respect.

Sophie Chattel-Monkheim was a Socialist by conviction and a Chattel-Monkheim by marriage.

He seems the incarnation of everything soft and silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let sleep.

The man is a common murderer. A common murderer, possible, but a very uncommon cook.