A Dreamer, I Walked Enchanted,

People Who Mattered Could Not Take The Humdrum World. But This Was Not The World, It Was Enchantment; And All Of It Was Mine.

All Whispers And Echoes From A Past That Is Gone Teem Into The Sleeper's Brain, And He Is With Them, And Part Of Them.

All Autobiography Is Self-indulgent.

No Person Will Ever Get Into My Blood As A Place Can ... People And Things Pass Away, But Not Places.

Looking From The Window At The Fantastic Light And Colour Of My Glittering Fairy-world Of Fact That Holds No Tenderness, No Quietude, I Long Suddenly For Peace, For Understanding.