My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

She will love deeply--suffer terribly--she will have glorious moments to compensate.

I know I haven't much sense or sobriety, but I've got what is ever so much better — the knack of making people like me.

Dogs want only love but cats demand worship.

We are both going to pray that we may live together all our lives and die the same day.

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's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it?