Every year, in the deep midwinter, there descends upon this world a terrible fortnight. ... every shop is a choked mass of humanity ... nerves are jangled and frayed, purses emptied to no purposes, all amusements and all occupations suspended in favor of frightful businesses with brown paper, string, letters, cards, stamps, and crammed post offices. This period is doubtless a foretaste of whatever purgatory lies in store for human creatures.
Rose MacaulayTake my camel, dear,' said my aunt Dot, climbing down from that animal on her return from high Mass.
Rose MacaulayPublishers of course have you altogether in their grip; if they say you must do a thing you have jolly well got to do it.
Rose MacaulayNothing, perhaps, is strange, once you have accepted life itself, the great strange business which includes all lesser strangeness.
Rose Macaulay