The East is marvellously interesting for tracing our steps back. But for going forward, it is nothing. All it can hope for is to be fertilised by Europe, so that it can start on a new phase.

Men always do leave off really thinking, when the last bit of wild animal dies in them.

Oh, what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made personal, merely personal feeling. This is what is the matter with us: we are bleeding at the roots because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars. Love has become a grinning mockery because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the Tree of Life and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table.

You live by what you thrill to, and there's the end of it.

No absolute is going to make the lion lie down with the lamb: unless the lamb is inside.

Another head - and a black alpaca jacket and a serviette this time - to tell us coffee is ready. Not before it is time, too.

It is no good casting out devils. They belong to us, we must accept them and be at peace with them.