Mr. Dearly wasn't exactly handsome but he had the kind of face you don't get tired of.
Just to be in love seemed the most blissful luxury I had ever known. The thought came to me that perhaps it is the loving that counts, not the being loved in return—that perhaps true loving can never...
It's odd how different a house feels when one is alone in it. It makes it easier to think rather private thoughts...
I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.
I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside--just as I felt cut off f...
As we drove I remembered how I had told myself I would make Simon happy. I didn't feel the same person. For I now knew that I had been stuffing myself up with a silly fairy tale, that I could never me...
And at last father flung the rug off as if it were hampering him and strode over to the table saying, 'cocoa, cocoa!'-- it might have been the most magnificent drink in the world; which, personally, I...
While I have been writing I have lived in the past, the light of it has been all around me...
The key to all knowledge comes in words of just one syllable, apparently.... There's only the last page left to write on. I'll fill it with words of just one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will lov...
My God - it's a green child! said the American. What is this place - the House of Usher?
I wasn't merely remembering, it seemed to be trapped inside my eyelids.
Americans do seem to say things which make the English notice England.
But it is always dreadful when the pictures in front of one's eyes become meaningless and the real word is there instead and seems meaningless, too.
What I'd really hate would be the settled feeling, with nothing but happiness to look forward to. Of course no life is perfectly happy- Rose's children will probably get ill, the servants may be diffi...
We were restless for ages...After a while I heard an owl hooting and calmed myself by thinking of it flying over the dark fields – and then I remembered it would be pouncing on mice. I love owls, but...
Thinking of death--strange, beautiful, terrible and a long way off--made me feel happier than ever.
Simon: You always were wise beyond your years. Cassandra: No I wasn't. I used to be consciously naive.
I get the feeling I do on finishing a novel with a brick-wall happy ending - I mean the kind of ending when you never think any more about the characters.
I found it quite easy to carry on a casual conversation it was as if my real feelings were down fathoms deep in my mind and what we said was just a feathery surface spray.
Art could state very little - it's whole business is to evoke responses.