Prose Is A Poor Thing, A Poor

Gardening Is A Luxury Occupation: An Ornament, Not A Necessity, Of Life.... Fortunate Gardener, Who May Preoccupy Himself Solely With Beauty In These Difficult And Ugly Days! He Is One Of The Few People Left In This Distressful World To Carry On The Tradition Of Elegance And Charm. A Useless Member Of Society, Considered In Terms Of Economics, He Must Not Be Denied His Rightful Place. He Deserves To Share It, However Humbly, With The Painter And Poet.

I Just Miss You, In A Quite Simple Desperate Human Way. Oh My Dear, I Can’t Be Clever And Stand-offish With You: I Love You Too Much For That. Too Truly.you Have No Idea How Stand-offish I Can Be With People I Don’t Love. I Have Brought It To A Fine Art. But You Have Broken Down My Defences. And I Don’t Really Resent It.

Ambition, Old As Mankind, The Immemorial Weakness Of The Strong.

All The Small Squalors Of The Body, Known Only To Oneself, Insignificant In Youth, Easily Dismissed, In Old Age Became Dominant And Entered Into Fulfilment Of The Tyranny They Had Always Threatened.

Travel Is The Most Private Of Pleasures. There Is No Greater Bore Than The Travel Bore. We Do Not In The Least Want To Hear What He Has Seen In Hong-kong.