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

What is more mortifying than to feel that you have missed the plum for want of courage to shake the tree?

All mirrors are magical mirrors, and we never see our faces in them.

There are people who, like houses, are beautiful in dilapidation.

It is the dread of something happening, something unknown and dreadful, that makes us do anything to keep the flicker of talk from dying out.

All our lives we are putting pennies — our most golden pennies — into penny-in-the-slot machines that are almost always empty.

What I like in a good author is not what he says but what he whispers.