The heavens opened for the sunset to-night. When I had thought the day folded and sealed, came a burst of heavenly bright petals.
Don’t forget that dragons are only guardians of treasures and one fights them for what they keep – not for themselves...
I used to believe I was merely words and I do not know whether I shall start hoping for something more. You planted that sense of hope in a secret deeply hidden place; it had walls made of bricks and huge abandoned gardens full of despair. It was covered in dusty waves and it was kept underground where no soul would ever walk. And you walked there – you planted hope. And now I cannot imagine myself without it.
Saw the sun rise. A lovely apricot sky with flames in it and then solemn pink. Heavens, how beautiful... I feel so full of love to-day after having seen the sun rise.
And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her.
I believe that people are like portmanteaux – packed with certain things, started going, thrown about, tossed away, dumped down, lost and found, half emptied suddenly, or squeezed fatter than ever, until finally the Ultimate Porter swings them on to the Ultimate Train and away they rattle...
I am always conscious of this secret disruption in me.
You know the feeling that a great writer gives you: my spirit has been fed and refreshed; it has partaken of something new.
It is true when you are by yourself and you think about life, it is always sad. All that excitement and so on has a way of suddenly leaving you, and it’s as though, in the silence, somebody called your name, and you heard your name for the first time.
I love to close my eyes a moment and think of the land outside, white under the mingled snow and moonlight – the heaps of stones by the roadside white – snow in the furrows. Mon Dieu! How quiet and how patient!
The English language is damned difficult, but it’s also damned rich, and so clear and bright that you can search out the darkest places with it.
It’s not your fault. Don’t think that. It’s just fate.
As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing.
You put me in touch with my own soul.
I feel as though I were living in a world of strange beings – do you? It’s people that make things so – silly. As long as you can keep away from them you’re safe and you’re happy.
Why does one feel so different at night? Why is it so exciting to be awake when everybody else is asleep? Late – it is very late! And yet every moment you feel more and more wakeful, as though you were slowly, almost with every breath, waking up into a new, wonderful, far more thrilling and exciting world than the daylight one.
There were all her feelings for him, sharp and defined, one as true as the other. And there was the other, this hatred, just as real as the rest. She could have done her feelings up in little packets and given them to Stanley. She longed to hand him that last one, for a surprise. She could see his eyes as he opened that...
Then something immense came into view; an enormous shock-haired giant with his arms stretched out. It was the big gum-tree outside Mrs. Stubbs’ shop, and as they passed by there was a strong whiff of eucalyptus. And now big spots of light gleamed in the mist. The shepherd.
I long to do wild, passionate things.
What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful.