The partitions of the houses were so thin we could hear the women occupants of adjoining rooms changing their minds.

I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I’m not feeling so well myself.

When one has tasted watermelons, one knows what angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because she repented.

I had longed to be a butterfly, and I was one at last. I attended private parties in sumptuous evening dress, simpered and aired my graces like a born beau, and polkaed and schoisched with a step peculiar to myself - and the kangaroo.

Custom is petrification, nothing but dynamite can dislodge it for a century.

Optimist: day dreamer more elegantly spelled.

Do you reckon Tom Sawyer was satisfied after all them adventures?