What a blessing it is to love books.
Who can begin conventional amiability the first thing in the morning?
I have been much afflicted again lately by visitors . . . and they gave me to understand that if they had had the arranging of the garden it would have been finished long ago - whereas I don't believe a garden is ever finished. They have all gone now, thank heaven.
And the summer seems as though it would dream on for ever.
Home is the best place when life begins to wobble.
Impossible for anyone to conceive the torments of his nights in bed with his beloved one and estranged from her. That turning of backs, that cold space between their two unhappy bodies.