It is no use trying to sum people up.
I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.
Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever.
That would be a glorious life, to addict oneself to perfection; to follow the curve of the sentence wherever it might lead, into deserts, under drifts of sand, regardless of lures, of seductions; to be poor always and unkempt; to be ridiculous in Piccadilly.
I am rooted, but I flow.