All good dialogue perhaps deals with something unprecedented.

Someone soon to start on a journey is always a little holy.

But surely love wouldn't get so much talked about if there were not something in it?

To the sun Rome owes its underlying glow, and its air called golden - to me, more the yellow of white wine; like wine it raises agreeability to poetry.

When I read a story, I relive the moment from which it sprang. A scene burned itself into me, a building magnetized me, a mood orseason of Nature's penetrated me, history suddenly appeared to me in some tiny act, or a face had begun to haunt me before I glanced at it.

life is a succession of readjustments.

nobody ever dies of an indignity.