I Have Lived Too Long In Foreign

He Is Outside Of Everything, And Alien Everywhere. He Is An Aesthetic Solitary. His Beautiful, Light Imagination Is The Wing That On The Autumn Evening Just Brushes The Dusky Window.

Cats And Monkeys; Monkeys And Cats; All Human Life Is There.

Oxford Lends Sweetness To Labour And Dignity To Leisure.

Writing Is Not Primarily Escape, But Use.

A Tradition Is Kept Alive Only By Something Being Added To It.