Spoilt Pleasure Is A Sad, Unseemly Thing;

Children Like Change - For One Thing, They Never Anticipate Regret.

The Writer, Like A Swimmer Caught By An Undertow, Is Borne In An Unexpected Direction. He Is Carried To A Subject Which Has Awaited Him--a Subject Sometimes No Part Of His Conscious Plan. Reality, The Reality Of Sensation, Has Accumulated Where It Was Least Sought. To Write Is To Be Captured--captured By Some Experience To Which One May Have Given Hardly A Thought.

Jealousy Is No More Than Feeling Alone Against Smiling Enemies.

Karen, Her Elbows Folded On The Deck-rail, Wanted To Share With Someone The Pleasure In Being Alone: This Is The Paradox Of Any Happy Solitude. She Had Never Landed At Cork, So This Hill And That Hill Beyond Were As Unexpected As Pictures At Which You Say "oh Look!" Nobody Was Beside Her To Share The Moment, Which Would Have Been Imperfect With Anyone Else There.

After Inside Upheavals, It Is Important To Fix On Imperturbable Things. Their Imperturbableness, Their Air That Nothing Has Happened Renews Our Guarantee.