Papa was a rolling stone

 Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was 

alone

A single man

But that long day ends at last; yields to the night-time of the flood. And, just as the waters of the ocean come flooding, darkening over the pools, so over George and the others in sleep come the waters of that other ocean; that consciousness which is no one in particular but which contains everyone and everything, past, present and future, and extends unbroken beyond the uttermost stars.


 Non ero pronta per la lettura di questo libro. Per finirlo ho fatto mattina, e ad essere sincera non ho la forza di parlarne ora. Magari un altro giorno. 

The memories we try to avoid, while forgetting everything else. 

Those are the ones that last longer.