Mother, may I go and maffick, Tear around and hinder traffic?

A woman who takes her husband about with her everywhere is like a cat that goes on playing with a mouse long after she's killed it.

The fashion just now is a Roman Catholic frame of mind with an Agnostic conscience: you get the mediaeval picturesqueness of the one with the modern conveniences of the other.

The cat is domestic only as far as suits its own ends.

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.

To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in the evening.

Once a female, always a female. Nature is not always infallible but she always abides by her mistakes.