Noble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for depression.
People's clothes ought to be buried with them.
How I wish I lived in a Jane Austen novel!
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.
The tea was a comfort - and by that time I more than needed comfort.
I found it quite easy to carry on a casual conversation it was as if my real feelings were down fathoms deep in my mind and what we said was just a feathery surface spray.