For the young people could not talk. And why should they? Shout, embrace, swing, be up at dawn.

Among the tortures and devestations of life is this then - our friends are not able to finish their stories.

Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts.

I like to have space to spread my mind out in.

Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely? All this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.