Now the noisy winds are still; April's coming up the hill! All the spring is in her train, Led by shining ranks of rain; Pit, pat, patter, clatter, Sudden sun and clatter patter!... All things ready with a will, April's coming up the hill!

Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be.

Grandma told me all about it, Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced, my grandma danced; long ago.

[On The Netherlands:] ... the entire country is a kind of saturated sponge.

I'm as true a Protestant, in sooth, as any fine lady that walks into church, but it's not wrong to turn sometimes to the good St. Nicholas.

What a dreadful thing it must be to have a dull father.

Luxuries unfit us for returning to hardships easily endured before.