But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible . . . and good? What would we find to talk about?

We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.

Which would you rather be if you had the choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?

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

But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods…for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.

Isn't it better to have your heart broken than to have it wither up? Before it could be broken it must have felt something splendid. That would be worth the pain.

The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did.