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

Thinking of death--strange, beautiful, terrible and a long way off--made me feel happier than ever.

Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation-- every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.

Well, my paper has asked me to do a series: Lives of the Great Musicians, reading time 2 minutes.

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.

Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

I shouldn't think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.