I should rather like to tear these last pages out of the book. Shall I? No-a journal ought not to cheat.
We were restless for ages...After a while I heard an owl hooting and calmed myself by thinking of it flying over the dark fields – and then I remembered it would be pouncing on mice. I love owls, but I wish God had made them vegetarian.
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.
... for I know I shall be interrupted-- I shall want to be, really, because life is too exciting to sit still for long.
Americans do seem to say things which make the English notice England.
I know all about the facts of life, and I don't think much of them.
Still, looking through the old volumes was soothing, because thinking of the past made the present seem a little less real.
My God - it's a green child!" said the American. "What is this place - the House of Usher?
Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.
He laughed a little, in an odd, nervous kind of way. "Because if I don't get going soon, the whole impetus may die--and if that happens, well, I really shall consider a long, restful plunge into insanity. Sometimes the abyss yawns very attractively.
Topaz was wonderfully patient - but sometimes I wonder if it is not only patience, but also a faint resemblance to cows.
I wonder if there isn't a catch about having plenty of money? Does it eventually take the pleasure out of things?
Prayer's a very tricky business.
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.
Stew's so comforting on a rainy day.
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.
...With stories even a page can take me hours, but the truth seems to flow out as fast as I can get it down.
Only half a page left now. Shall I fill it with 'I love you, I love you'-- like father's page of cats on the mat? No. Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.
Am I really admitting that my sister is determined to marry a man she has only seen once and doesn't much like the look of? It is half real and half pretense - and I have an idea that it is a game most girls play when they meet an eligible young men. They just...wonder.
And at last father flung the rug off as if it were hampering him and strode over to the table saying, 'cocoa, cocoa!'-- it might have been the most magnificent drink in the world; which, personally, I think it is.
Perhaps it would really be rather dull to be married and settled for life. Liar! It would be heaven.
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