Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.

I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No-a journal ought not to cheat.

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.

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

I only want to write. And there's no college for that except life.

Prayer's a very tricky business.

Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.