I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.

Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.

The ostrich burying its head in the sand does at any rate wish to convey the impression that its head is the most important part of it.

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?

In fact, isn't it a joy - there is hardly a greater one - to find a new book, a living book, and to know that it will remain with you while life lasts?

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

Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.