[W]e possess nothing certainly except the past. — Evelyn Waugh

She seemed to say "Look at me. I have done my share. I am beautiful. It is something quite out of the ordinary, this beauty of mine. I am made for delight. But what do I get out of it? Where is my reward?"That was the change in her from ten years ago; that, indeed, was her reward, this haunting, this magical sadness which spoke straight to the heart and struck silence; it was the completion of her beauty."

My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time.

The trouble with modern education is you never know how ignorant they are