Rose doesn’t like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.

It's odd how different a house feels when one is alone in it. It makes it easier to think rather private thoughts.

They call them the haunted shores, these stretches of Devonshire and Cornwall and Ireland which rear up against the westward ocean. Mists gather here, and sea fog, and eerie stories. That's not because there are more ghosts here than in other places, mind you. It's just that people who live hereabouts are strangely aware of them.

I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.

Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside--just as I felt cut off from the church. I thought: I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

I was wandering around as usual, in my unpleasantly populated sub-conscious.