I wonder if there isn't a catch about having plenty of money? Does it eventually take the pleasure out of things?

The key to all knowledge comes in words of just one syllable, apparently.... There's only the last page left to write on. I'll fill it with words of just one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.

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

Ah, but you're the insidious type--Jane Eyre with of touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl.

The tea was a comfort - and by that time I more than needed comfort.

I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No-a journal ought not to cheat.

It is rather exciting to write by moonlight.