We shall meet, but as strangers. It is the end of an era. A whole part of my life is torn away.
The trouble with people nowadays is they don't know how to do nothing.
The room had the rather sinister tedium which some bedrooms have, a sort of weary banality which is a reminder of death. A dressing table can be a terrible thing.
Don't tease me. Everything wounds me now except perfect kindness.
Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved
Oh my life is so awful, it's just so awful to be me, you don't know what it's like waking every morning and finding the whole horror of being yourself still there.
Anywhere is dangerous if you carry danger with you.
Male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying t...
You talk of freedom — I've never had it! I've been lonely and miserable and in despair, and you want me to consent to all that all over again!
He wanted to be a universal man . . . and I suppose that isn't possible now. He belongs in fifteenth-century Italy. This age doesn't suit him.
There is a time limit to how long a spirited young person can be kept in cold storage.
So was she on the side of dragons and indifferent to the fate of princesses?
One can be too ingenious in trying to search out the truth. Sometimes one must simply respect its veiled face. Of course this is a love story.
And all the time my very soul would travel with her, invisible and crying soundlessly with pain. I had acquired a dimension of suffering which would poison and devour my whole being, as far as I could...
Our actions are like ships which we may watch set out to sea, and not know when or with what cargo they will return to port.
There is a kind of despair involved in creation which I am sure any artist knows all about. In art, as in morality, great things go by the board because at the crucial moment we blink our eyes. When i...
Most friendships are a sort of frozen and undeveloping semi-hostility.
He was glad that he had expressed to her, however blunderingly, what he felt. He was glad that he had held her hand.
Trains induce such terrible anxiety. They image the possibility of total and irrevocable failure. They are also dirty, rackety, packed with strangers, an object lesson in the foul contingency of life:...
I adore your jealousy, especially when it's so misplaced. I expect Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about that.