Does nobody understand?

Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.

My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out.

Lily, the caretaker's daughter, was literally run off her feet. Hardly had she brought one gentleman into the little pantry behind the office on the ground floor and helped him off with his overcoat, than the wheezy hall-door bell clanged again and she had to scamper along the bare hallway to let in another guest. It was well for her she had not to attend to the ladies also.

Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?

If there is any difficulty in what I write, it is because of the material I use. The thought is always simple.

I shall write a book some day about the appropriateness of names. Geoffrey Chaucer has a ribald ring, as is proper and correct, and Alexander Pope was inevitably Alexander Pope. Colley Cibber was a silly little man without much elegance and Shelley was very Percy and very Bysshe.