As I Make My Slow Pilgrimage Through

The Moment That Any Life, However Good, Stifles You, You May Be Sure It Isn't Your Real Life.

I Am Sure It Is One's Duty As A Teacher To Try To Show Boys That No Opinions, No Tastes, No Emotions Are Worth Much Unless They Are One's Own. I Suffered Acutely As A Boy From The Lack Of Being Shown This.

There Remain Times When One Can Only Endure. One Lives On, One Doesn't Die, And The Only Thing That One Can Do, Is To Fill One's Mind And Time As Far As Possible With The Concerns Of Other People. It Doesn't Bring Immediate Peace, But It Brings The Dawn Nearer.

When You Get To My Age Life Seems Little More Than One Long March To And From The Lavatory.

A Well Begun Is Half Ended.