I rely on the promise, God is kind to women, fools, and drunk people.

Young children are such nasty little beasts!

all griefs, when there is no bitterness in them, are soothed down by time.

Not a hundredth part of the thoughts in my head have ever been or ever will be spoken or written — as long as I keep my senses, at least.

In spite of the honestest efforts to annihilate my I-ity, or merge it in what the world doubtless considers my better half, I still find myself a self-subsisting and alas! self-seeking me.

The only thing that makes one place more attractive to me than another is the quantity of heart I find in it.

The surest way to get a thing in this life is to be prepared for doing without it, to the exclusion even of hope.