Still, Looking Through The Old

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.

And Who Says You Always Have To Understand Things? You Can Like Them Without Understanding Them -- Like 'em Better Sometimes.

Death Is Too Much To Ask Of The Living.

There Was A Wonderful Atmosphere Of Gentle Age, A Smell Of Flowers And Beeswax, Sweet Yet Faintly Sour And Musty; A Smell That Makes You Feel Very Tender Towards The Past.

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.