Contemplation seems to be about the only luxury that costs nothing.
I wonder if there isn't a catch about having plenty of money? Does it eventually take the pleasure out of things?
Ham with mustard is a meal of glory
Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.
Truthfulness so often goes with ruthlessness.
What is it about the English countryside — why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?