Sun, moon, and stars were gone; the ladder of light had vanished; and I lay sobbing on my pillow.
I have taken up a great deal of room with this story of a dream, but it clung to me, and would often return.

And then the time of life to which this chapter refers is all so like one, that a dream comes in well enough in it.

There is a twilight of the mind, when all things are strange, and when the memory is only beginning to know that it has got a notebook, and must put things down in it.
It was not long after this before my mother died, and I was sorrier for my father than for myself--he looked so sad.

I have said that as far back as I can remember, she was an invalid.

Hence she was unable to be much with us.