“London is a friend whom I can leave knowing without doubt that she will be the same to me when I return, to-morrow or forty years hence, and that, if I do not return, she will sing the same song to inheritors of my happy lot in future generations. Always, whether sleeping or waking, I shall know that in Spring the sun rides over the silver streets of Kensington, and that in the Gardens the shorn sheep find very green pasture. Always the plaited threads of traffic will wind about the reel of London; always as you up Regent Street from Pall Mall and look back, Westminster will rise with you like a dim sun over the horizon of Whitehall. That dive down Fleet Street and up to the black and white cliffs of St. Paul's will for ever bring to mind some rumour of romance. There is always a romance that we leave behind in London, and always London enlocks that flower for us, and keeps it fresh, so that when we come back we have our romance again.”

“The hoarse church-bells of London ring;The hoarser horns of London croak;The poor brown lives of London clingAbout the poor brown streets like smoke;The deep air stands above my roofLike water, to the floating stars.My friend and I - we sit aloof -We sit and smile, and bind our scars.”

“Come home, come home, you million ghosts,The honest years shall make amends,The sun and moon shall be your hosts,The everlasting hills your friends.”

“London is good for two things — excellent Scotch and leaving.I miss them both, especially as I often partake of one while doing the other. I find the company stifling, the streets foul smelling and overcrowded, the houses bland and without architectural merit, and the people banal and filled with their own consequence. No matter how often I leave London, I cannot wait to leave it again. My home is in my explorations. Those always welcome me.”

“The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen as children always do I believe when we go back to them”

“I feel you," he said, "whether stalking me through the streets of London, or hiding behind a screen in my library.”

“I want to go out into the country, I want to thread the pale Spring air, and hear the lambs cry. I want to brush my face against the grass, and wade in a wave of bluebells.”