When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.

Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

We are bound together by the sympathy of our antipathies.

He could not feel her near him in the darkness nor hear her voice touch his ear. He waited for some minutes listening. He could hear nothing: the night was perfectly silent. He listened again: perfectly silent. He felt that he was alone.

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.