Books Have Been My Greatest Comfort, Castle-building

I Was Thinking What A Curious Thing Love Is; Only A Sentiment, And Yet It Has Power To Make Fools Of Men And Slaves Of Women.

Some Stories Are So Familiar Its Like Going Home.

…that's What Old People Are Here For, — Else Their Experience Is Of Little Use.

The Clocks Were Striking Midnight And The Rooms Were Very Still As A Figure Glided Quietly From Bed To Bed, Smoothing A Coverlid Here, Settling A Pillow There, And Pausing To Look Long And Tenderly At Each Unconscious Face, To Kiss Each With Lips That Mutely Blessed, And To Pray The Fervent Prayers Which Only Mothers Utter.

I Want To Do Something Splendid… Something Heroic Or Wonderful That Won’t Be Forgotten After I’m Dead… I Think I Shall Write Books.