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.

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.

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.

I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.

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?

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

You might drop your heart into me and you'd never hear it touch bottom.