“Foul, misbegotten mound of walking donkey dung!”

“I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me--and my caro sposo walking by. I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at home;--and very long walks, you know--in summer there is dust, and in winter there is dirt.”

“Then Samson said. With a donkeys jawbone I have made donkeys of them. With a donkey's jawbone I have killed a thousand of them.”

“What were the living dead, Wolgast thought, but a metaphor for the misbegotten march of middle age?”

“Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.”

“I think I know what's wrong with you... Walk up onto that pitcher's mound... Does your stomach hurt now?""Yes! Ow! Ooo! Yes!""All right, now come down off the mound... There... Has it stopped hurting?""Yes... Yes, I think it has!""There's your trouble... Five cents, please!”