Everything in the least connected with him has value for me; if someone even mentions his name it is like a little present to me-and I long to mention it myself
I was wandering around as usual, in my unpleasantly populated sub-conscious.
So many of the loveliest things in England are melancholy.
Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you.
I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.
The family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.