People don't ever seem to realise that doing what's right's no guarantee against misfortune.

London is always beautiful to those who love and understand that extraordinary microcosm; but at five of a summer morning there is about her an exquisite quality of youthful fragrance and debonair freshness which goes to the heart.

It is so much easier to tell intimate things in the dark.

Responsibility's like a string we can only see the middle of. Both ends are out of sight.

Roses just now predominate. There is a satisfying solidity about the bunches, a glorious abundance which, in a commodity so easily enjoyed without ownership, is scarcely credible. I feel no desire to own these huge aggregations of odorous beauty. It would be like owning a harem, one imagines.