The immense success of our life is, I think, that our treasure is hid away; or rather in such common things that nothing can touch it.

He was a thorough good sort; a bit limited; a bit thick in the head; yes; but a thorough good sort. Whatever he took up he did in the same matter-of-fact sensible way; without a touch of imagination, without a sparkle of brilliancy, but with the inexplicable niceness of his type.

When I am grown up I shall carry a notebook—a fat book with many pages, methodically lettered. I shall enter my phrases.

Intellectual freedom depends upon material things.

loveliness is infernally sad.

Why have I so little control? It is the case of much waste and pain in my life.

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.