I believe this thought, of the possibility of death - if calmly realised, and steadily faced would be one of the best possible tests as to our going to any scene of amusement being right or wrong.

You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk.

And thus they give the time, that Nature meant for peaceful sleep and meditative snores, to ceaseless din and mindless merriment and waste of shoes and floors.

have i gone mad? im afraid so, but let me tell you something, the best people usualy are.

Death is always sad, I suppose, to us who look forward to it: I expect it will seem very different when we can look back upon it.

If you set to work to believe everything, you will tire out the believing-muscles of your mind, and then you'll be so weak you won't be able to believe the simplest true things.

I'm doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?