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

Fancies are like shadows...you can't cage them, they're such wayward, dancing things.

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.

That is one consolation when you are poor—there are so many more things you can imagine about.

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.

Good night, belovedest. Your sleep will be sweet if there is any influences in the wishes of your own.

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