In England, Life Is A Long Process

Italians Are Never Punctual; The Café, The Convenient Place To Wait, Absolves Them From That. There Is No Question Of Hanging About, No Looking Lost And Unwanted Or Even Disreputable, As There Is In Hotel Lobbies Or The Foyers Of Restaurants. One Just Sits And Enjoys The Scene, And Waits.

Poetry Has Been The Longest Pleasure Of My Life.

I Never Had, Or Wished For, Power Over You. That Isn't True, Of Course. I Wanted The Greatest Power Of All. But Not Advantage, Or Authority.

One Would Always Want To Think Of Oneself As Being On The Side Of Love, Ready To Recognize It And Wish It Well -but, When Confronted With It In Others, One So Often Resented It, Questioned Its True Nature, Secretly Dismissed The Particular Instance As Folly Or Promiscuity. Was It Merely Jealousy, Or A Reluctance To Admit So Noble And Enviable A Sentiment In Anyone But Oneself?

Did You Ever Notice How Easy It Is To Forgive A Person Any Number Of Faults For One Endearing Characteristic, For A Certain Style, Or Some Commitment To Life - While Someone With Many Good Qualities Is Insupportable For A Single Defect If It Happens To Be A Boring One?