Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.

We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.

Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it

The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.

Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.

Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.