It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

When I make up my mind to do a thing it stays made up.

A bosom friend - an intimate friend, you know - a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul.

She had dreamed some brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her. In her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again. And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms.

Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?But am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn't talk? If you say so I'll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult.

If a kiss could be seen I think it would look like a violet.