Biography
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Essays by
The charm of golf
It is part of the charm of being bad at golf that in a moment, in a single night, we may become good.
On going into a house
For the first time for nineteen years, I am actually living in a house. I have (imagine my excitement) a staircase of my own.
Goldfish
In their cheap glass bowl upon the three-legged table, above which the cloth-covered canary maintains a stolid silence, they remind me of antimacassars and horsehair sofas and all that is depressing.
My library
If you arrange your books according to their contents you are sure to get an untidy shelf.
The pleasure of writing
For it was enough for me this morning just to write; with spring coming in through the open windows and my good Canadian quill in my hand.
Smoking as a fine art
At eighteen I went to Cambridge, and bought two pipes in a case. In those days Greek was compulsory, but not more so than two pipes in a case.
Thoughts on thermometers
If it was going to freeze, it might as well do it properly–so as to show other nations that England was still to be reckoned with.
A word for autumn
Somehow it had begun to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer might drift on and on through the months–a final upheaval to crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that.