“There are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely.”

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.

She has man’s brain–a brain that a man should have were he much gifted–and woman’s heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me when He made that so good combination.

The inscrutable laws of sex have so arranged that even a timid woman is not afraid of a fierce and haughty man.

No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.

There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part.

It is something like the way dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm by contact.

My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side.

There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh, unconscious cerebration.

A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

Enter freely and of your own free will!

For now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help sooth me.

I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.

Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh.

Good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.

The blood is the life!

And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere ‘modernity’ cannot kill.

I have two or three shows that I follow, and even those are few and far.

Medicine is of all the Arts the most noble; but, owing to the ignorance of those who practice it, and of those who, inconsiderately, form a judgment of them, it is at present behind all the arts.

I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell.

I’m one of those freaky people that actually reads books.

There is a lot of pretty horrific stuff that happens, and I don’t usually get those kinds of characters who get to go to those places.

The prizes go to those who meet emergencies successfully. And the way to meet emergencies is to do each daily task the best we can.

To all those who have suffered as a consequence of our troubled past I extend my sincere thoughts and deep sympathy. With the benefit of historical hindsight we can all see things which we would wish had been done differently or not at all.

The atmosphere, the earth, the water and the water cycle – those things are good gifts.