Christmas, so long looming over everyone's head, finally surged up, buried everyone alive and ebbed away, leaving its victims distinctly cross.

The great thing in life is not to be able to do things, because then they are always done for you.

It has been noticed that people who are not parents often have a peculiar fondness for children. This is sometimes attributed to a very beautiful nostalgia for a gift denied to them - dream-children, flowers that have only bloomed in imagination - but we think it is rather because they have not the faintest idea how dreadful children are.

it is rather depressing to think that one will still be oneself when one is dead, but I dare say one won't be so critical then.

Christmas, so long looming over everyone's head, finally surged up, buried everyone alive and ebbed away, leaving its victims distinctly cross.

Early poems are a thing it takes years to live down.

If only life were one long crisis, everyone would be perfect.