But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have to stop and that hurts.
No use in taking a cat’s opinion of a dog.
The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did.
Outgrowing things we love is never a pleasant process.
Some nights are like honey – and some like wine – and some like wormwood.
Nothing ever seems impossible in spring, you know.
It is a strange thing to read a letter after the writer is dead – a bitter-sweet thing, in which pain and comfort are strangely mingled.
It is when my umbrella turns inside out that I am convinced of the total depravity of inanimate things.
I’m always sorry when pleasant things end. Something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never be sure.
There is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is there? And it’s so hard to keep from loving things, isn’t it?
When people mean to be good to you, you don’t mind very much when they’re not quite – always.
Children can be the most cruel creatures alive. They have the herd instinct of prejudice against any outsider, and they are merciless in its indulgence.
Dogs want only love but cats demand worship.
People who don’t like cats always seem to think there is some peculiar virtue in not liking them.
It’s rather hard to decide just when people are grown up...
I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed.
It was rapture enough just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in the white splendor of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them out of the pine woods.
I must get out all my ambitions and dust them.
Cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just when you especially want them to be good.
Death grows friendlier as we grow older.