[In old age] there is a childlike innocence, often, that has nothing to do with the childishness of senility. The moments become precious . . .
Flowers and plants are silent presences. They nourish every sense except the ear.
letters are so much easier than living. One can give one's best.
People are always talking about the joys of youth-but, oh, how youth can suffer!
It feels a long way up and down from zero.
instant intimacy was too often followed by disillusion.