Wealth, if not a mere flash in the pan, compels the wealthy to become wealthier.

It is best as one grows older to strip oneself of possessions, to shed oneself downward like a tree, to be almost wholly earth before one dies.

She was heavier than he expected – women always are.

One doesn’t become a witch to run around being harmful, or to run around being helpful either, a district visitor on a broomstick. It’s to escape all that – to have a life of one’s...

blight the genial bed.