Never economize on luxuries.

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

There are few pleasures like really burrowing one's nose into sweet peas.

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.

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

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

But human nature cannot be content on a diet of honey and if there is nothing in one's life that requires pity, one must invent it; for to go through life unpitied would be an unthinkable loss.