But you, oh gardener, poet that you be / Though unaware, now use your seeds like words / And make them lilt with color nicely flung.

The Saluki is a marvel of elegance.

April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.

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

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

One must be businesslike, although the glass is falling.

There is something intrinsically wrong about letters. For one thing they are not instantaneous. ... Nor is this the only trouble about letters. They do not arrive often enough. A letter which has been passionately awaited should be immediately supplemented by another one, to counteract the feeling of flatness that comes upon us when the agonizing delights of anticipation have been replaced by the colder flood of fulfilment.