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.

Facts are stubborn things, but, as some one has wisely said, not half so stubborn as fallacies.

Who would endure life if it were not for the hope of death?

I'm sure I shall always feel like a child in the wood.

But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible . . . and good? What would we find to talk about?

I love pretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something that isn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful—just as I feel when I look at any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful.

No use in taking a cat's opinion of a dog.