“Poor Linda,” she said, with feeling, “poor little thing. But Fanny, don’t you think perhaps it’s just as well? The lives of women like Linda and me are not so much fun when one begins to grow older.”
I didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings by protesting that Linda was not that sort of woman.
“But I think she would have been happy with Fabrice,” I said, “He was the great love of her life, you know.”
“Oh, dulling,” said my mother, sadly. ”One always thinks that. Every, every time.”
-Nancy Mitford, The Pursuit Of Love
“ I wish we could spend July by the sea, browning ourselves and feeling water-weighted hair flow behind us from a dive. I wish our gravest concerns were the summer gnats. I wish we were hungry for hot dogs and dopes, and it would be nice to smell the starch of summer linens and the faint odor of talc in blistering summer bath houses.. We could lie in long citoneuese beams of the five o’clock sun on the plage of Juans-les-Pins and hear the sound of the drum and piano being scooped out to sea by the waves.”
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind…
-William Wordsworth, “Ode: Intimations of Immortality”
If I don’t drive around the park,
I’m pretty sure to make my mark.
If I’m in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I’ll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.
ALL THAT GLITTERS….