Oh, Wise Young Judge.

Walking Down Belmotte Was The Oddest Sensation-- Every Step Took Us Deeper Into The Mist Until At Last It Closed Over Our Heads. It Was Like Being Drowned In The Ghost Of Water.

So Many Of The Loveliest Things In England Are Melancholy.

Why Is Summer Mist Romantic And Autumn Mist Just Sad?

I Am A Restlessness Inside A Stillness Inside A Restlessness.

Just To Be In Love Seemed The Most Blissful Luxury I Had Ever Known. The Thought Came To Me That Perhaps It Is The Loving That Counts, Not The Being Loved In Return -- That Perhaps True Loving Can Never Know Anything But Happiness. For A Moment I Felt That I Had Discovered A Great Truth.