Phoh! Phoh! said Edmund, as if speaking to himself, it can never be — Helen has never mentioned it in her letters — Phoh, Tom, impossible.

I would like sometimes to rest, to be at peace, to choose a nook, a love, and engroove myself in it — to make a final selection.

I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others.

vintage ephemera