I find a fascination, like the fascination for the moth of a star, in those who hold aloof and disdain me.

The world is not unkind, and reprobates are worse than their reputations.

The old know what they want; the young are sad and bewildered.

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.

When elderly invalids meet with fellow-victims of their own ailments, then at last real conversation begins, and life is delicious.

For souls in growth, great quarrels are great emancipations.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.