Life piles up so fast that I have no time to write out the equally fast rising mound of reflections.

madam," the man cried, leaping to the ground, "you're hurt!" "I'm dead, sir!" she replied. A few minutes later, they became engaged.

Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read; what I haven't read.

Of the rest some we know to be dead though they walk among us; some are not yet born though they go through the forms of life; others are hundreds of years old though they call themselves thirty-six.

I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; “the things people don’t say.

On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.

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