literature is the record of our discontent.

There is something about the present which we would not exchange, though we were offered a choice of all past ages to live in.

Illness is a part of every human being's experience. It enhances our perceptions and reduces self-consciousness. It is the great confessional; things are said, truths are blurted out which health conceals.

With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes -- one of the tragedies of married life.

Safe! safe! safe!' the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry 'Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.

Habits and customs are a convenience devised for the support of timid natures who dare not allow their souls free play.

The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.