Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.
Time takes the ugliness and horror out of death and turns it into beauty.
...surely I could give him--a sort of contentment... That isn't enough to give. Not for the giver.
People's clothes ought to be buried with them.
Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you.
I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No-a journal ought not to cheat.