I was not yet three years old when my mother determined to send one of my elder sisters to learn to read at a school for girls we call the Amigas. Affection, and mischief, caused me to follow her, and when I observed how she was being taught her lessons I was so inflamed with the desire to know how to read, that deceiving - for so I knew it to be - the mistress, I told her that my mother had meant for me to have lessons too. ... I learned so quickly that before my mother knew of it I could already read.

I don't study to know more, but to ignore less.

One can perfectly well philosophize while cooking supper.

The greater evil who is in- When both in wayward paths are straying? The poor sinner for the pain Or he who pays for the sin?

Rare is he who will concede genius.

Aristotle could have known so much more if he cooked.

O who is more to blame: He who sins for pay - Or he who pays for sin?