The Difficulty About All This Dying, Is

I Wonder Whether If I Had An Education I Should Have Been More Or Less A Fool That I Am.

What Sense Of Superiority It Gives One To Escape Reading Some Book Which Every One Else Is Reading.

If I Can Get On To My Sofa And Occupy Myself For Four Hours, At Intervals Through The Day, Scribbling My Notes, And Able To Read The Books That Belong To Me, In That They Clarify The Density, And Shape The Formless Mass Within, Life Seems Inconceivably Rich.

Physical Pain However Great Ends In Itself And Falls Away Like Dry Husks From The Mind, Whilst Moral Discords And Nervous Horrors Sear The Soul.

Truly Nothing Is To Be Expected Except For The Unexpected.