What a tiny list of friends I have! All my fault. I less and less want to see people.
I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside – just as I felt cut off from the church. I thought: I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.
Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Rose doesn’t like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.
I found it quite easy to carry on a casual conversation it was as if my real feelings were down fathoms deep in my mind and what we said was just a feathery surface spray.
The one Bach piece I learnt made me feel I was being repeatedly hit on the head with a teaspoon.
I’m convinced England’s overflowing with eccentric people, places, happenings. Indeed, you might say eccentricity’s normal in England.
When things mean a very great deal to you, exciting anticipation just isn’t safe.
Ham with mustard is a meal of glory.
What is it about the English countryside – why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?
Death is too much to ask of the living.
I wanted so terribly to be good to him.
The tea was a comfort – and by that time I more than needed comfort.
So many of the loveliest things in England are melancholy.
Topaz was wonderfully patient – but sometimes I wonder if it is not only patience, but also a faint resemblance to cows.
Prayer’s a very tricky business.
Truthfulness so often goes with ruthlessness.
I wonder if there isn’t a catch about having plenty of money? Does it eventually take the pleasure out of things?
Ah, but you’re the insidious type – Jane Eyre with of touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl.
Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.