I tossed up whether I'd see [the critic] or not: I knew too well the pompous phrases of his article, the buried significance he would discover of which I was unaware and the faults I was tired of faci...
I laugh at anyone who spends so much time writing about what doesn't exist - mental concepts.
I had committed myself: without love I'd have to go through the gestures of love.
I couldn't have thought of her more. Even vacancy was crowded with her.
How can I make a stranger see her as she stopped in the hall at the foot of the stairs and turned to us? I have never been able to describe even my fictitious characters except by their actions. It ha...
He was impregnably armored by his good intentions and his ignorance.
He sat heavily down on a tall tubular adjustable chair, which shortened suddenly under his weight and split him on the floor. Somebody always leaves a banana-skin on the scene of a tragedy.
He said, ‘Oh god, help her. Damn me, I deserve it, but let her live forever.’ This was the love he should have felt for every soul in the world: all the fear and the wish to save concentrated unjustly...
He looked with horror round the room: nobody could say he hadn't done right to get away from this, to commit any crime... When the man opened his mouth he heard his father speaking, that figure in the...
Feeling her against me, I was reminded of desire. Would that always be the case now—not desire, but only the reminder of it?
Cuando uno se escapa a un desierto el silencio te grita en los oídos.
Can't one love or hate, I broke out at him, as long as that? Don't make any mistake. I'm just another of your jealous clients, I don't claim to be any different fro m the rest,but there's been a time-...
And yet he was happier in his unused room simply because it was his, his possession. I thought with bitterness and envy, if one possesses a thing securely, one need never use it.
And sitting there, my fingers on the quiet instrument, with something to look forward to, I thought to myself: I remember. This is what hope feels like.
Always I find when I begin to write there is one character who obstinately will not come alive...He never does the unexpected thing, he never surprises me, he never takes charge. Every other character...
A police photograph is like a passport photograph: the intelligence which casts a veil over the crude common shape is never recorded by the cheap lens. No one can deny the contours of the flesh, the s...
A picture postcard is a symptom of loneliness.
I didn't know it buy You moved in the pain. I said, let him be alive,' not believing in You, and my disbelief made no difference to You. You took it into Your love and accepted it like an offering, an...
A book is like a sandy path which keeps the indent of footprints.
You try to draw everything into the net of your faith, father, but you can't steal all the virtues. Gentleness isn't Christian, self-sacrifice isn't Christian, charity isn't, remorse isn't. I expect t...