It's A Good World If

There Is A Point Of No Return, Unremarked At The Time, In Most Lives.

Tea At College Was Served On Long Tables With An Urn At The End Of Each. Long Baguettes Of Bread, Three To A Table, Were Set Out With Meagre Portions Of Butter And Jam; The China Was Coarse To Withstand The Schoolboy-clutch And The Tea Strong. At The Hôtel De Paris I Was Astonished At The Fragility Of The Cups, The Silver Teapot, The Little Triangular Savoury Sandwiches, The éclairs Stuffed With Cream.

I Had To Touch You With My Hands, I Had To Taste You With My Tongue; One Can't Love And Do Nothing.

I Couldn't Help Wondering, Is My Husband So Unattractive That No Woman Has Ever Wanted Him? Except Me, Of Course. I Must Have Wanted Him, In A Way, Once, But I've Forgotten Why, And I Was Too Young To Know What I Was Choosing.

Sometimes I See Myself Reflected Too Closely In Other Men For Comfort, And Then I Have An Enormous Wish To Believe In The Saints, In Heroic Virtue.