You can kill the body, but not the spirit.

You mightn't happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese-toasted, mostly-and woke up again, and here I were.

To miss the joy is to miss everything.

And the true realism, always and everywhere, is that of the poets: to find out where joy resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing. For to miss the joy is to miss all.

To believe in immortality is one thing, but it is first needful to believe in life.

Everyday life is a stimulating mixture of order and haphazardry. The sun rises and sets on schedule but the wind bloweth where it listeth.

No human being ever spoke of scenery for above two minutes at a time, which makes me suspect that we hear too much of it in literature.