'I want to live ten hundred years.' This was a mystery beyond Nance's penetration, and she stared in wonder as she made the porridge.
'I want to live,' he continued, 'I want to live and to grow rich.

I want to drive my carriage and to dice in hells and see the ring, I do.

Is this a life that I lived?
I want to be a rake, d' ye understand?
I want to know what things are like.

I don't want to die like a blind kitten, and me seventy-six.' 'O fie!' said Nance.
The old man thrust out his jaw at her, with the grimace of an irreverent schoolboy.

Upon that aged face it seemed a blasphemy.