Fashion Seems To Exist For An Abstract

Nobody Ever Dies Of An Indignity.

Certain Books Come To Meet Me, As Do People.

Only In A House Where One Has Learnt To Be Lonely Does One Have This Solicitude For Things. One's Relation To Them, The Daily Seeing Or Touching, Begins To Become Love, And To Lay One Open To Pain.

Fashion Seems To Exist For An Abstract Person Who Is Not You Or Me.

Habit, Of Which Passion Must Be Wary, May All The Same Be The Sweetest Part Of Love.