Time takes the ugliness and horror out of death and turns it into beauty.

Wakings are the worst times--almost before my eyes are open a great weight seems to roll on my heart.

Death is too much to ask of the living.

I'm convinced England's overflowing with eccentric people, places, happenings. Indeed, you might say eccentricity's normal in England.

extreme happiness invites religion almost as much as extreme misery.

Only half a page left now. Shall I fill it with 'I love you, I love you'-- like father's page of cats on the mat? No. Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.

Was I the only woman in the world who, at my age - and after a lifetime of quite rampant independence - still did not quite feel grown up?