The Public, As A Whole, Finds Reassurance

There Is Something Intrinsically Wrong About Letters. For One Thing They Are Not Instantaneous. ... Nor Is This The Only Trouble About Letters. They Do Not Arrive Often Enough. A Letter Which Has Been Passionately Awaited Should Be Immediately Supplemented By Another One, To Counteract The Feeling Of Flatness That Comes Upon Us When The Agonizing Delights Of Anticipation Have Been Replaced By The Colder Flood Of Fulfilment.

I Suppose The Pleasure Of The Country Life Lies Really In The Eternally Renewed Evidences Of The Determination To Live. That Is A Truism When Said, But Anything But A Truism When Daily Observed. Nothing Shows Up The Difference Between The Thing Said Or Read, So Much As The Daily Experience Of It.

The Wise Traveler Is He Who Is Perpetually Surprised.

The True Solitary ... Will Feel That He Is Himself Only When He Is Alone; When He Is In Company He Will Feel That He Perjures Himself, Prostitutes Himself To The Exactions Of Others; He Will Feel That Time Spent In Company Is Time Lost; He Will Be Conscious Only Of His Impatience To Get Back To His True Life.

It Is Necessary To Write, If The Days Are Not To Slip Emptily By. How Else, Indeed, To Clap The Net Over The Butterfly Of The Moment?