It is dreadful how I miss you, and everything that everybody says seems flat and stupid.

How subtle is the relationship between the traveler and his luggage! He knows, as no one else knows, its idiosyncrasies, its contents ... and always some small nuisance which he wishes he had not brought; had known, indeed, before starting that he would regret it, but brought it all the same.

For bees are captious folk / And quick to turn against the lubber's touch.

I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. Oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly.You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.

Serenity of spirit and turbulence of action should make up the sum of a man's life.

Of course I should love to throw a toothbrush into a bag, and just go, quite vaguely, without any plans or even a real destination. It is the Wanderlust.

Prose is a poor thing, a poor inadequate thing, compared with poetry which says so much more in shorter time.