It's a pleasant thing to be young, and have ten toes.

The ideal story is that of two people who go into love step for step, with a fluttered consciousness, like a pair of children venturing together into a dark room.

He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. He’s an extraordinary-looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. No sir; I can make no hand of it; I can’t describe him. And it’s not want of memory; for I declare I can see him this moment.

Wine is bottled poetry.

Give us courage and gaiety and the quient mind . . .

The difficulty is not to write, but to write what you mean.

An aspiration is a joy forever, a possession as solid as a landed estate.