Most Gay, Conversational, Careless, Lovely City ...

Remorse ... Is One Of The Many Afflictions For Which Time Finds A Cure.

What A Strange Distance There Is Between Ill People And Well Ones.

The Damned Book I Am Writing Is Like The Driveling Of A Weak-kneed Sea Calf. If I Were Sufficiently Strong Minded, I Should Tear It Up An Start Again. But I Don't.

You Are Quite, Quite Wrong If You Think That ... I Find Your Happiness Painful. What Matters Is That Happiness - The Golden Day - Should Exist In The World, Not Much To Whom It Comes. For All Of Us It Is So Transitory A Thing, How Could One Not Draw Joy From Its Arrival?

I Can't Think Why I Was Cursed With This Inordinate Desire To Write, If The High Gods Weren't Going To Give Me Some More Adquate Means Of Expressing Myself Than That Which My Present Pedestrian Prose Affords.