I thought that spring must last forevermore, For I was young and loved, and it was May.

We should never be at the mercy of Providence if only we understood that we ourselves are Providence.

Most men, whether men or women, wish above all else to be comfortable, and thought is a pre-eminently uncomfortable process; it brings to the individual far more suffering than happiness in a semi-civilised world which still goes to war.

Babies are a nuisance, of course. But so does everything seem to be that is worth while – husbands and books and committees and being loved and everything. We have to choose between barren ease and rich unrest – or rather, one does not choose.

I thought that spring must last forevermore, For I was young and loved, and it was May.

Few of humanity's characteristics are more disconcerting than its ability to reduce world-events to its own level, wherever this may happen to be.

The joys of motherhood are not excessively apparent during the first few weeks of a baby's life.