She makes me get up just at the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they comb me all to thunder; she won't let me sleep in the woodshed; I got to wear them blamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't seem to let any air git through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice that I can't set down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I hain't slid on a cellar-door for - well, it 'pears to be years; I got to go to church and sweat and sweat - I hate them ornery sermons! I can't ketch a fly in there, I can't chaw. I got to wear shoes all Sunday. The widder eats by a bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell - everything's so awful reg'lar a body can't stand it.

To promise not to do a thing is the surest way in the world to make a body want to go and do that very thing.

There is a sumptuous variety about the New England weather that compels the stranger's admiration - and regret. The weather is always doing something there; al…

There was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats was only 'hooking,' while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was plain simple steali…

When Marilyn Monroe got out of the game, I wrote something like, 'Southern California's special horror notwithstanding, if the world offered nothing, nowhere t…

Reality is nothing but a collective hunch.

Tout ce qui plait a une raison de plaire, et mepriser les attroupements de ceux qui s'egarent n'est pas le moyen de les ramener ou ils devraient etre.