I like to hear a storm at night. It is so cosy to snuggle down among the blankets and feel that it can't get at you.

There are many worse friends than the soft, silent, furry, cat-folk.

I have a little brown cocoon of an idea that may possibly expand into a magnificent moth of fulfilment.

I wish every one in the world was as warm and sheltered as we are tonight.

Kindred spirits alone do not change with the changing years.

Isn't it terrible the way some unworthy folks are loved, while others that deserve it far more, you'd think, never get much affection?

Rilla's heart skipped a beat — or, if that be a physiological impossibility, she thought it did.