People that trust themselves a dozen miles from the city, in strange houses, with servants they don't know, needn't be surprised if they wake up some morning and find their throats cut.

there is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt. A book may fail, but who is there to know it? It dies and is buried, and is decently interred on the bookseller's shelf; but the play dies to laughter, to scorn and disdain.

Young Doctor Arden was gong through the process of reorienting himself after a night's sleep.

Old men make wars that young men may die.

A cat and a Bible, and nobody needs to be lonely.

Natalie Spenser was giving a dinner. She was not an easy hostess.

Besides, you want the unvarnished and ungarnished truth, and I'm no hand for that. I'm a lawyer.