It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me.

All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.

No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.

Doesn't all experience crumble in the end to mere literary material?

No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.