It's the fools that make all the trouble in the world, not the wicked.

A cold in the head in June is an immoral thing.

Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn’t mean to be wicked. It’s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn’t it?

It is when my umbrella turns inside out that I am convinced of the total depravity of inanimate things.

It was rapture enough just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in the white splendor of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them out of the pine woods.

But she had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.

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