Words were the only net to catch a mood, the only sure weapon against oblivion.

There was one bursting now, a delicate constellation of many-coloured stars which drifted down and lingered in the still air.... The final rocket went up, a really large one, a piece of reckless extravagance. Its sibilant uprush was impressive, dragonlike; it soared twice as high as any they had had before.... The sparks from the rocket came pouring down the sky in a slow golden cascade, vanishing one by one into a lake of darkness.

Scots are born exiles, and Scotland the perfect country to be exiled from. Do not imagine that I am running down Scotland. Far from it. ... No, what I mean is that Scotland's beauties, though undeniable, are obvious ones, easy to carry in the heart, easy even to describe to the benighted members of less fortunate races. Lakes, islands and mountains, heather and rowan, broad straths and narrow glens - these are jewels easily worn in the memory.

Words were the only net to catch a mood, the only sure weapon against oblivion.

swans ... always look as though they'd just been reading their own fan-mail.

In childhood the daylight always fails too soon - except when there are going to be fireworks.

Constructive destruction is one of the most delightful employments in the world, and in civilized life the opportunities for it are only too rare.