Magic, madam, is like wine and, if you are not used to it, it will make you drunk.

Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.

The governess was not much liked in the village. She was too tall, too fond of books, too grave, and, a curious thing, never smiled unless there was something to smile at.

But, though French, she was also very brave.

There is nothing in the world so easy to explain as failure - it is, after all, what everybody does all the time.

There must come a time when the bullets will run out

Ha!' said the tall man drily. 'He was in high luck. Rich old uncles who die are in shockingly short supply.