A little group of thatched cottages in the middle of the village had an orchard attached; and I remember well the peculiar purity of the blue sky seen through the white clusters of apple blossom in spring. I remember being moonstruck looking at it one morning early on my way to school. It meant something for me; what, I couldn't say. It gave me such an unease at heart, some reaching out towards perfection such as impels men into religion, some sense of the transcendence of things, of the fragility of our hold on life.

This filthy twentieth century. I hate its guts.

I would never wound a cat's feelings, no matter how downright aggressive I might be to humans.

History is a great deal closer to poetry than is generally realised: in truth, I think, it is in essence the same.

If there is any honor in all the world that I should like, it would be to be an honorary Jewish citizen.

Walking is the favorite sport of the good and wise.

One might regard architecture as history arrested in stone.