Her thoughts ran away to her girlhood with its passionate longing for adventure and she remembered the arms of men that had held her when adventure was a possible thing for her. Particularly she remembered one who had for a time been her lover and who in the moment of his passion had cried out to her more than a hundred times, saying the same words madly over and over: "You dear! You dear! You lovely dear!" The words, she thought, expressed something she would have liked to have achieved in life.

The whole object of education is...to develop the mind. The mind should be a thing that works.

If people did not want their stories told, it would be better for them to keep away from me.

The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.

You can make a killing as a playwright in America, but you can't make a living.

There is this thing called life. We live it, not as we intend or wish, but as we are driven on by forces outside and inside ourselves.

On the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.