Poor soul, she always knew everything about her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself.

[O]ne can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.

I'm afraid to speak or move for fear that all this wonderful beauty will just vanish... like a broken silence.

That is one consolation when you are poor—there are so many more things you can imagine about.

I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.

Houses are like people - some you like and some you don't like - and once in a while there is one you love.

There is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is there? And it's so hard to keep from loving things, isn't it?