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

there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don't mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one's breathing.

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.

Can one do nothing for the dead? And for a long time the answer had been - Nothing!

The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.

I want, by understanding myself, to understand others.

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.