Loyal? As loyal as anyone who plays second fiddle ever is.

That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.

This land was an enigma. It was like a horse that no one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicks things to pieces.

[Mark Twain] is still the rough, awkward, good-natured boy who swore at the deck hands when he was three years old. Thoroughly likeable as a good fellow, but impossible as a man of letters.

In great misfortunes, people want to be alone. They have a right to be. And the misfortunes that occur within one are the greatest. Surely the saddest thing in the world is falling out of love--if once one has ever fallen in.

There was a new kind of strength in the gravity of her face, and her colors still gave her that look of deep-seated health and ardor.

It has long been a tradition among novel writers that a book must end by everybody getting just what they wanted, or if the conventional happy ending was impossible, then it must be a tragedy in which one or both should die. In real life very few of us get what we want, our tragedies don't kill us, but we go on living them year after year, carrying them with us like a scar on an old wound.