Love is the only real patriation, and without one's dear one sits in a dreary and boring exile.

You are only young once. At the time it seems endless, and is gone in a flash; and then for a very long time you are old.

And another day is tucked under my wing.

Happy is the day whose history is not written down.

There are some women ... in whom conscience is so strongly developed that it leaves little room for anything else.

Here is a kitchen improvement, in return for Peacock. For roasting or basting a chicken, render down your fat or butter with cider: about a third cider. Let it come together slowly, till the smell of cider and the smell of fat are as one. This will enliven even a frozen chicken.

One doesn’t become a witch to run around being helpful either…. It’s to escape all that – to have a life of one’s own, not an existence doled out to you by others, charitable refuse of their thoughts, so many ounces of stale bread of life a day.