My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

Tears don't hurt like the ache does.

Whenever you looked forward to anything pleasant you were sure to be more or less disappointed . . . perhaps that is true. But there is a good side to it too. The bad things don't always come up to your expectations either . . . they nearly always turn out ever so much better than you think.

What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality.

Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it.

Outgrowing things we love is never a pleasant process.

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.