Mountains inspire awe in any human person who has a soul. They remind us of our frailty, our unimportance, of the briefness of our span on this earth. They touch the heavens, and sail serenely at an altitude beyond even the imaginings of a mere mortal.

Concern for someone else was a good remedy for taking the mind off one's own troubles.

Clergymen have much the same in their breeches as other men.

There was no escaping by means of any journey, however adventurous, one took one's problems and sorrows with one.

It is all very well, when the pen flows, but then there are the dark days when imagination deserts one, and it is an effort to put anything down on paper. That little you have achieved stares at you at the end of the day, and you know the next morning you will have to scrape it down and start again.

It is a sadness of growing older that some of us lose our ardent appreciation of what is new and different and difficult.

The trouble with lies was that once started, the fiction had to be continued, and it was hard always to be remembering details that you had made up upon the spur of the moment.