All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
Mr Earbrass escaped from Messrs Scuffle and Dustcough, who were most anxious to go into all the ramifications of a scheme for having his novels translated into Urdu, and went to call on a distant cous...
Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that’s what makes it so boring.
Each night Father fills me with dreadWhen he sits on the foot of my bed;I'd not mind that he speaksIn gibbers and squeaks,But for seventeen years he's been dead.
I am a person before I am anything else. I never say I am a writer. I never say I am an artist...I am a person who does those things.
The Baron told her that only art meant anything.
A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.B is for Basil assaulted by bears.C is for Clara who wasted away.D is for Desmond thrown out of a sleigh.E is for Ernest who choked on a peach. F is for Fanny suc...
My least favorite actress of all time, Helena Bonham Carter. I find her lack of a neck very off-putting and especially her acting.
Some tiny creature, mad with wrath, is coming nearer on the path.
I tell myself not to remember the past, not to hope or fear for the future, and not to think in the present, a comprehensive program that will undoubtedly have very little success.
How elegant! how choice! how gay!To think one doesn’t have to pay.There is sound of falling tears;It comes from nowhere to the ears.Some tiny creature, filled with wrath,Is coming nearer on the path.
The world may think it idiotic,Nor care at all we're symbiotic,But I will say at once and twice:I find it nice. I find it nice.
I've never had any intentions about anything. That's why I am where I am today, which is neither here nor there, in a literal sense.
He presented it with a length of string
On November 18 of alternate years Mr Earbrass begins writing 'his new novel'. Weeks ago he chose its title at random from a list of them he keeps in a little green note-book. It being tea-time of the...
The Suicide, as she is falling,Illuminated by the moon,
I tend to think life is pastiche: I'm not sure what it's a pastiche of - we haven't found out yet.
Having got into bed and turned out the light, I quietly burst into tears because I am not a good person. As they came and went for some minutes, I was concerned with the words following 'because' in t...
Anyway, for whatever interest is to be derived therefrom. Bacon, Balthus, and Magritte are my three favourite painters, along with Dubuffet, of the whole post-impressionist period, by which I mean tha...
There was a young lady named MaeWho smoked without stopping all day;As pack followed pack,Her lungs first turned black,And eventually rotted away.