We had our breakfasts--whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder, it doesn't matter, you must have your breakfast.

Except in this ignorant and material century, men have always worn precious stuffs and beautiful colours as well as women.

I haven't much time to be fond of anything ... but when I have a moment's fondness to bestow, most times ... the roses get it. I began my life among them in my father's nursery garden, and I shall end my life among them, if I can. Yes. One of these days (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, and try my hand at growing roses.

And earth was heaven a little the worse for wear. And heaven was earth, done up again to look like new.

I say what other people only think, and when all the rest of the world is in a conspiracy to accept the mask for the true face, mine is the rash hand that tears off the plump pasteboard and shows the bare bones beneath.

My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

Yes! the books - the generous friends who met me without suspicion - the merciful masters who never used me ill! The only years of my life that I can look back on with something like pride... Early and late, through the long winter nights and the quiet summer days, I drank at the fountain of knowledge, and never wearied of the draught.