What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of bliss - absolute bliss - as though you'd suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle into every finger and toe?

But the more poetry one reads the more one longs to read!

Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.

How idiotic civilization is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?

I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.

Life never become a habit to me. It's always a marvel.

But one day we shall be rich, and the next poor. One day we shall dine in a palace and the next we'll sit in a forest and toast mushrooms on a hatpin.