You can't eat [literature], that's the problem," he said. "I've tried, it's very dry, and not at all nutritious.

You're like something drawn with the sun's fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.

His speech failed to rouse an enthusiastic cheer, but no one dared contradict him.

I'm cursed with this puritanical streak that makes me want everything to be about something. It's a terrible affliction.

I prefer the word aviatrix. It has more zing to it." "It's very zingy," I agreed.

You two were in a cave together?’ said Miss Simpkins in horror. ‘Yes,’ said Kate, ‘and it was very, very dark.

I poo poo the chit.' The attendant looked stunned. 'You cannot poo-poo the chit!' I do.' Kate said solemnly. 'I do poo-poo.' We'll walk.