I Stretched Out My Hand

I Was So Astonished That I Could Think Of Nothing To Say, But Wondered Irrelevantly If I Was To Be Caught With A Teapot In My Hand On Every Dramatic Occasion.

Life Is Cruel And We Do Terrible Things To Each Other.

Oh, But It Was Splendid The Things Women Were Doing For Men All The Time, Thought Jane. Making Them Feel, Perhaps Sometimes By No More Than A Casual Glance, That They Were Loved And Admired And Desired When They Were Worthy Of None Of These Things - Enabling Them To Preen Themselves And Puff Out Their Plumage Like Birds And Bask In The Sunshine Of Love, Real Or Imagined, It Didn't Matter Which.

I Love Evensong. There's Something Sad And Essentially English About It.

Novel Writing Is A Kind Of Private Pleasure, Even If Nothing Comes Of It In Worldly Terms.