In old age we are like a batch of letters that someone has sent. We are no longer in the past, we have arrived.

One must know and recognize not merely the direct but the secret power of the word.

Do not forget, some give little, and it is much for them, others give all, and it costs them no effort; who then has given most?

A word can be transformed into a coulour, light, a smell; it is the writer's task to use it in such a way that it serves, never fails, can never be ignored.

The long, long road over the moors and up into the forest - who trod it into being first of all? Man, a human being, the first that came here. There was no path before he came.

Heaven knows that there are plenty of opportunities in later life, too, for being carried away. What of it? We remain what we are and, no doubt, it is all very good for us!

And love was creation's source,creation's ruler; but all love's ways are strewn with blossoms and blood, blossoms and blood.