“-How miraculously lucky I am! And I sat down absolutely comfortable, with a little bank of earth under the hedge for my back to lean against, and the charming English prospect before my eyes. I thought of my friends, and my extraordinary happiness. I thought of Death, of Keats and the Ode to the Nightingale, of ‘easeful Death’ – ‘half in love with easeful Death’ – and I was convinced, as I’d been convinced in the train coming down from London that if Death would only come to one in a mood of serene happiness, he would be very welcome. I thought of suddenly dying, painlessly, where I lay…”
L Strachey
