And now more than anything I want beautiful prose. I relish it more and more exquisitely.

“This I say is the present moment; this is the first day of the summer holidays.…”

“What was it then? What did it mean? Could things thrust their hands up and grip…”

“Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs co…”

“But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love.”