We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
That’s the place to get to—nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.
And dimly she realised one of the great laws of the human soul: that when the emotional soul receives a wounding shock, which does not kill the body, the soul seems to recover as the body recovers. Bu...
My God, these folks don't know how to love -- that's why they love so easily.
It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she w...
THE BOTTOMS succeeded to Hell Row. Hell Row was a block of thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two fiel...
She had borne so long this cruelty of belonging to him and not being claimed by him.
Nobody can be more clownish, more clumsy and sententiously in bad taste than Herman Melville.
He felt if he could not be alone, and if he could not be left alone, he would die.
And they fear nothing, and they respect nothing, the young don't.
It was like something lurking in the darkness within him...There is remained in the darkness, the great pain, tearing him at times, and then being silent.
The days go by, through the brief silence of winter, when the sunshine is so still and pure, like iced wine, and the dead leaves gleam brown, and water sounds hoarse in the ravines.
I love you, rotten,Delicious rottenness....wonderful are the hellish experiences,Orphic, delicateDionysos of the Underworld.
Time went on grey, uncloured, like a long journey where she sat unconscious as the landscape unrolled beside her.
The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.
She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rath...
Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea...
When we get out of the glass bottles of our ego,and when we escape like squirrels turning in thecages of our personalityand get into the forests again,we shall shiver with cold and frightbut things wi...