Dead Men Tell No Tales, Mary.

We Can Never Go Back Again, That Much Is Certain. The Past Is Still Close To Us. The Things We Have Tried To Forget And Put Behind Us Would Stir Again, And That Sense Of Fear, Of Furtive Unrest, Struggling At Length To Blind Unreasoning Panic - Now Mercifully Stilled, Thank God - Might In Some Manner Unforeseen Become A Living Companion As It Had Before.

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

I Wish I Was A Woman Of About Thirty-six Dressed In Black Satin With A String Of Pearls.

Living As We Do In An Age Of Noise And Bluster, Success Is Now Measured Accordingly. We Must All Be Seen, And Heard, And On The Air.

I Wondered Why It Was That Places Are So Much Lovelier When One Is Alone.