I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.

...and a dream away in space with neither her nor there where all the footsteps ever fell can never fare nearer to anywhere nor from anywhere further away. Nor for in the end again by degrees or as though switched on dark falls there again that certain dark that alone certain ashes can. Through it who knows yet another end beneath a cloudless sky of a last end if ever there had to be another absolutely had to be.

How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life.

Fail, fail again, fail better.

Where you have nothing, there you should want nothing.

My dear Tom, Delighted to get your letter. Do write again. This life is terrible and I don't understand how it can be endured.

We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.