It is when my umbrella turns inside out that I am convinced of the total depravity of inanimate things.

There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it...until they have grown so old that they forget the way. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again...The world calls them singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.

I'm afraid to speak or move for fear that all this wonderful beauty will just vanish... like a broken silence.

I've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and I feel that it marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home.

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.

It’s so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding.

Mrs. Lynde says, 'Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be disappointed.