I wish I could be a grandmother. It is wanton extravagance to have had a youth with no one to tell of it to when one grows old.

General de Gaulle is again pictured in our newspapers, looking as usual like an embattled codfish.

Love is the only real patriation, and without one's dear one sits in a dreary and boring exile.

But what are wishes, compared with longings?

Here is a kitchen improvement, in return for Peacock. For roasting or basting a chicken, render down your fat or butter with cider: about a third cider. Let it come together slowly, till the smell of cider and the smell of fat are as one. This will enliven even a frozen chicken.

One doesn’t become a witch to run around being helpful either…. It’s to escape all that – to have a life of one’s own, not an existence doled out to you by others, charitable refuse of their thoughts, so many ounces of stale bread of life a day.

To one who has led a virtuous life, to sin is the easiest thing in the world. No experience of unpleasant consequences grits that smooth sliding fall, no recollection of disillusionment blurs that pure desire.