“Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.”

“Footfalls echo in the memorydown the passage we did not taketowards the door we never openedinto the rose garden. My words echothus, in your mind”

“We do not pass through the same door twiceOr return to the door through which we did not pass”

“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”

“We ask only to be reassuredAbout the noises in the cellarAnd the window that should not have been open”

“My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment’s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesOr in memories draped by the beneficent spiderOr under seals broken by the lean solicitorIn our empty rooms”

“Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know.”