In the life of each of us, I said to myself, there is a place remote and islanded, and given to endless regret or secret happiness; we are each the uncompanioned hermit and recluse of an hour or a day; we understand our fellows of the cell to whatever age of history they may belong.

In these days the young folks is all copy-cats, 'fraid to death they won't be all just alike; as for the old folks, they pray for the advantage o' bein' a little different.

my friends plunged into a borderless sea of reminiscences and personal news.

Yes'm, old friends is always best, 'less you can catch a new one that's fit to make an old one out of.

I've got 's much feelin' as the next one, but when folks drives in their spiggits and wants to draw a bucketful o' compassion every day right straight along, there does come times when it seems as if the bar'l was getting low.

I've found that people who look at things as they are, and not as they wish them to be, are the ones who succeed.

the mysterious moment of death proves to be a moment of waking. How one longs to take it for one's self!