What a tiny list of friends I have! All my fault. I less and less want to see people.
So many of the loveliest things in England are melancholy.
Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.
The one Bach piece I learnt made me feel I was being repeatedly hit on the head with a teaspoon.
People's clothes ought to be buried with them.
And who says you always have to understand things? You can like them without understanding them -- like 'em better sometimes.