She knew exactly how she ought to feel, for she was well read in our greater and lesser English poets, but the unfortunate fact was that she did not really like being kissed at all.
But at least it made one realize that life still held infinite possibilities for change.
I stretched out my hand towards the little bookshelf where I kept cookery and devotional books, the most comfortable bedside reading.
We, my dear Mildred, are the observers of life. Let other people get married by all means, the more the merrier. . . . Let Dora marry if she likes. She hasn’t your talent for observation.
Letty allowed her to ramble on while she looked around the wood, remembering its autumn carpet of beech leaves and wondering if it could be the kind of place to lie down in and prepare for death when life became too much to be endured.
Once outside the magic circle the writers became their lonely selves, pondering on poems, observing their fellow men ruthlessly, putting people they knew into novels; no wonder they were without friends.
I realised that one might love him secretly with no hope of encouragement, which can be very enjoyable for the young or inexperienced.
It seemed so much safer and more comfortable to live in the lives of other people – to observe their joys and sorrows with detachment as if one were watching a film or a play.
The conversation did not go very well and I began telling him about the people with their trays in the great cafeteria and suggesting that it would have done us more good to go there to be put in mind of our own mortality.
One did not drink sherry before the evening, just as one did not read a novel in the morning.
How absurd and delicious it is to be in love with somebody younger than yourself. Everybody should try it.