Death is the starlit strip between the companionship of yesterday and the reunion of tomorrow.

I purpose publishing these Letters here in the world before I return to you. Two editions. One, unedited, for Bible readers and their children; the other, expurgated, for persons of refinement

Whenever he was out of luck and a little down-hearted, he would fall to mourning over the loss of a wonderful cat he used to own (for where women and children are not, men of kindly impulses take up with pets, for they must love something)

He is useless on top of the ground; he ought to be under it, inspiring the cabbages.

Noise proves nothing. Often a hen who has merely laid an egg cackles as if she laid an asteroid.

We adore titles and heredities in our hearts and ridicule them with our mouths. This is our democratic privilege.

I don't speak German well but several experts have assured me that I write it like an angel. Maybe so, maybe so- I don't know. I've not yet made any acquaintances among the angels. That comes later, whenever it please the Deity. I'm not in any hurry.