When I see myself at 14 years old I can put my hands on my head and think: 'How could I have done that?' but at that time it had sense for me. You do the same when you're 20. And now, when you look at people who are 20 years old you ask yourself: 'Was I like that? Was I really like that?'
Yesterday evening Mrs. Arundel insisted on my going to the window, and looking at the glorious sky, as she called it? Of course I had to look at it? She is one of those absurdly pretty Philistines to whom one can deny nothing? And what was it? It was simply a very second-rate Turner, a Turner of a bad period