Only The Magic And The Dream Are

My Life, Which Seems So Simple And Monotonous, Is Really A Complicated Affair Of Cafés Where They Like Me And Cafés Where They Don't, Streets That Are Friendly, Streets That Aren't, Rooms Where I Might Be Happy, Rooms Where I Shall Never Be, Looking-glasses I Look Nice In, Looking-glasses I Don't, Dresses That Will Be Lucky, Dresses That Won't, And So On.

London Is Like A Cold Dark Dream Sometimes.

When I Think About It, If I Had To Choose, I'd Rather Be Happy Than Write.

But They Never Last, The Golden Days. And It Can Be Sad, The Sun In The Afternoon, Can't It? Yes, It Can Be Sad, The Afternoon Sun, Sad And Frightening.

Age Seldom Arrives Smoothly Or Quickly. It's More Often A Succession Of Jerks.