“The darling mispronunciations of childhood! - dear me, there's no music that can touch it; and how one grieves when it wastes away and dissolves into correctness, knowing it will never visit his bereaved ear again.”
“There's not one good thought in that place. There's nothing but waste and want. I can feel his selfish cravings and an abyss of secrets I hope to never know.”
“Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.”
“Though it may be more romantic to picture the bereaved as gaunt, I imagine you can grieve as efficiently with chocolates as with tap water.”
“If you don't know how to pronounce a word, say it loudly. Do not compound mispronunciation with inaudibility”
“There's music in the sighing of a reed;There's music in the gushing of a rill;There's music in all things, if men had ears;The earth is but the music of the spheres.”