My very soul seemed to expand within me to peace and joy.

Oxford--the enchanted valley, holding in its flowerlet cup all the idealism of the middle ages.[3] Oxford is the capital of romance, Frank; in its own way as memorable as Athens, and to me it was even more entrancing.

In Oxford, as in Athens, the realities of sordid life were kept at a distance.

No one seemed to know anything about money or care anything for it.
Everywhere the aristocratic feeling; one must have money, but must not bother about it.

And all the appurtenances of life were perfect: the food, the wine, the cigarettes; the common needs of life became artistic symbols, our clothes even won meaning and significance.