You are softening toward the young rascal because he is ill, and because he says he likes cats.” “It is an engaging quality, Emerson.” “That depends,” said Emerson darkly, “on how he likes them.
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.
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.
…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.
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.
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.)
