It's funny, I thought, how the routine of life goes on, whatever happens; we do the same things, go through the little performance of eating, sleeping, washing. No crisis can break through the crust o...
If the flower of my generation had not been blown to bits in the war they would have brought it back again. Now it’s too late. So few of us are left. The bride at St. George’s
I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that freedom is the only thing that matters to me at all. Also utter irresponsibility! Never to have to obey any laws or rules, only certain standards one sets for...
I did so obediently, and waited for her approval.
Her uncle had ridden away on the moors somewhere, and a sense of freedom possessed her whenever he was gone.
But the point is this, monsieur, explained the patron, the reason why madame complains of you, is not because of the immorality in itself; but because, so she tells me, you make immorality delicious.
She thought with pity of all the men and women who were not light-hearted when they loved, who were cold, who were reluctant, who were shy, who imagined that passion and tenderness were two things sep...
Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard.
Happiness is not a possession to be prized, it is a quality of thought, a state of mind.
The little happy trivialities of a normal happy life: gossip with the neighbours, and church on Sundays, and driving into market once a week; fruitpicking, and harvest-time.
Panacea
Love was a thing of such simplicity once it was shared, and admitted, and done, with all the joy intensified and all the fever gone
You have to endure something yourself before it touched you.
We change from the awakening questing creatures we were once, afire with wonder, and expectancy, and doubt, to persons of opinion and authority, our habits formed, our characters moulded in a pattern
We can see the film stars of yesterday in yesterday’s films, hear the voices of poest and singers on a record, keep the plays of dead dramatists upon our bookshelves, but the actor who holds his audie...
Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand.
They were all gone, these other selves, and they would never come back again.They had vanished, like little thoughts and little dreams, poor has-beens that had lived in me and I in them, now thrown aw...
There was never an accident.Rebecca was not drowned at all. I killed her.I shot Rebecca in the cottage in the cove.I carried her body to the cabin, and took the boat out that night and sunk it there,...
There was Manderley, our Manderley, secretive and silent as it had always been, the gray stone shining in the moonlight of my dream...
There have been men in arid deserts where the sun has so disfigured them that they have become things of horror – parched and blackened, twisted and torn. Their eyes run blood, their tongues are bitte...