Wit. The salt with which the American humorist spoils his intellectual cookery by leaving it out.
When I think of a merry, happy, free young girl— and look at the ailing, aching state a young wife generally is doomed to— which you can’t deny is the penalty of marriage.
I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me; the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.
The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.
