Every time one leaves anywhere, something precious, which ought not to be killed, is left to die.

I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.

I think I hate snow, downright hate it. There is something stupefying in it, a kind of 'You must be worse before you're better,' and down it spins.

Isn't life,' she stammered, 'isn't life--' But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood. 'Isn't it, darling?' said Laurie.

My love for you tonight is so deep and tender that it seems to be outside myself as well.

The late evening is the time of times. Then with that unearthly beauty before one it is not hard to realise how far one has to go. To write something that will be worthy of that rising moon, that pale light.

That's all life is - something childish and very natural. Isn't it?