The older one grows, the more one likes indecency.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
Now, aged 50, I'm just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.
At 46 one must be a miser; only have time for essentials.
Life piles up so fast that I have no time to write out the equally fast rising mound of reflections.
The large shiny black forehead of the first whale was no more than two yards from us when it sank beneath the surface of the water, then we saw the huge blue-black bulk glide quietly under the raft right beneath our feet. It lay there for some time, dark and motionless, and we held our breath as we looked down on the gigantic curved back of a mammal a good deal longer than the raft.
Surely it was time someone invented a new plot, or that the author came out from the bushes.
These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism.
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
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