Oh, it is wonderful to wake up in the morning with things to look forward to!

Though he had very little Latin beyond "Cave canem," he had, as a young dog, devoured Shakespeare (in a tasty leather binding).

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.

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

Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.

Still, looking through the old volumes was soothing, because thinking of the past made the present seem a little less real.

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.