The peace of Manderley. The quietude and the grace. Whoever lived within its walls, whatever trouble there was and strife, however much uneasiness and pain, no matter what tears were shed, what sorrows borne, the peace of Manderley could not be broken or the loveliness destroyed.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

I have no talent for making new friends, but oh such genius for fidelity to old ones.

All whispers and echoes from a past that is gone teem into the sleeper's brain, and he is with them, and part of them.

A bad workman blames his tools.

The trouble is, walking in Venice becomes compulsive once you start. Just over the next bridge, you say, and then the next one beckons.

Time will mellow it, make it a moment for laughter. But now it was not funny, now I did not laugh. It was not the future, it was the present. It was too vivid and too real.