Well, I for one am unable to imagine how anybody who lives with an intelligent and devoted dog can every be lonely.

What a blessing it is to love books.

Home is the best place when life begins to wobble.

For I'm afraid of loneliness; shiveringly, terribly afraid. I don't mean the ordinary physical loneliness, for here I am, deliberately travelled away from London to get to it, to its spaciousness and healing. I mean that awful loneliness of spirit that is the ultimate tragedy of life. When you've got to that, really reached it, without hope, without escape, you die. You just can't bear it, and you die.

Beauty made you love, and love made you beautiful.

And the summer seems as though it would dream on for ever.

If one believed in angels one would feel that they must love us best when we are asleep and cannot hurt each other; and what a mercy it is that once in every twenty-four hours we are too utterly weary to go on being unkind.