“The only people who are not in awe of Emerson’s powerful voice and well-nigh superhuman strength are the members of his own family. He is aware of this, and often complains about it; so from time to time I like to put on a little show of being intimidated. ‘Proceed, my dear,’ I said apologetically.”

I never meant to marry. In my opinion, a woman born in the last half of the nineteenth century of the Christian era suffered from enough disadvantages without willfully embracing another.

Nefret had always had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. ‘Did she cry?’ she asked sweetly. ‘And then you kissed her? You shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure you meant well, but kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake.

A man asking for help ought to at least give directions.

Dogs can be made to feel guilty about anything, including the sins of their owners. Cats refuse to take the blame for anything – including their own sins.

Loving someone condemns you to a lifetime of fear. You become painfully conscious of how fragile people are – bundles of brittle bones and vulnerable flesh, breeding grounds for billions of deadly germs and horrible diseases.

I do not scruple to employ mendacity and a fictitious appearance of female incompetence when the occasion demands it.

Superstition has its practical uses.

a church ought to express the joy of religion as well as its majesty.

…Nefret said with a gusty sigh, ‘Well, that’s done it. We may as well join in, Ramses, family arguments are the favorite form of amusement here and this looks like being a loud one.

kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake.

Ramses had always been fond of Helen, in his peculiar fashion, but if he had looked at me as he was looking at her, I would have sent for a constable.

Husbands do not care to be contradicted. Indeed, I do not know anyone who does.

I’ve been reading ghost stories ever since I could read. I’m immensely curious about ghosts and UFOs and all that stuff, but I’m a very hard-headed person.

When men start talking about ‘honor’, there is sure to be trouble ahead.

There was no warning, not even a knock. The door flew open, and he forgot his present aches and pains in anticipation of what lay in store. The figure that stood in the door was not that of an enemy. It was worse. It was his mother.

In the silence I heard Bastet, who had retreated under the bed, carrying on a mumbling, profane monologue. (If you ask how I knew it was profane, I presume you have never owned a cat.)