Time To Tidy Up Your Life. Time

Cuddling Was For Great Aunts And Teddy Bears. Cuddling Gave Him Cramp.

The Sad Fact Is That I Love Dickens And Donne And Keats And Eliot And Forster And Conrad And Fitzgerald And Kafka And Wilde And Orwell And Waugh And Marvell And Greene And Sterne And Shakespeare And Webster And Swift And Yeats And Joyce And Hardy, Really, Really Love Them. It’s Just That They Don’t Love Me Back.

We're Not Ourselves, Are We? I'm Certainly Not Myself, Not Anymore. And You're Not Either. You Don't Seem Yourself. Not As I Remember You.

I Suppose The Important Thing Is To Make Some Sort Of Difference.

He Put One Hand Lightly On The Back Of Her Neck And Simultaneously She Placed One Hand Lightly On His Hip, And They Kissed In The Street As All Around Them People Hurried Home In The Summer Light, And It Was The Sweetest Kiss That Either Of Them Would Ever Know. This Is Where It All Begins. Everything Starts Here, Today. And Then It Was Over.