Lud-in-the-Mist

by Hope Mirrlees

You should regard each meeting with a friend as a sitting he is unwittingly giving you for a portrait — a portrait that, probably, when you or he die, will still be unfinished.

Pride and resentment are not indigenous to the human heart; and perhaps it is due to the gardener’s innate love of the exotic that we take such pains to make them thrive.

The dew, like lunar daisies, lay thickly on the grassy graves.