Death grows friendlier as we grow older.
I wish I were dead, or that it were tomorrow night,' groaned Phil.
An old house with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its eyes picked out.
I don't really care what people think about me if they don't let me see it.
The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did.
March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.