I just think of things as beautiful or not. Can't you understand? I don't think of good or bad. Just of beautiful or ugly. I think a lot of nice things are ugly and a lot of nasty things are beautiful...
I felt like a germ that had landed, like the first penicillin microbe, not only in a culture where it was totally at home, totally nourished; but in a situation in which it was infinitely significant.
You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts.
There are some men who are consoled by the idea that there are women less attractive than their wives; and others who are haunted by the knowledge that there are more attractive.
The silence was terrible then, as tense as a bridge about to break, a tower to fall; unedurable in its emotion, its truth bursting to be spoken.
The collection had the eclectic impersonality of a public library.
Once upon a time there was a young prince who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, he did not believe in God. His father, the king, told h...
Men love war because it allows them to look serious. Because they imagine it is the one thing that stops women laughing at them. In it they can reduce women to the status of objects. That is the great...
If you are wise, you will never pity the past for what it did not know, but pity yourself for what it did.
I want to tell you what's really happened.Not now. Please not now. Whatever's happened, come and make love to me.And we did make love; not sex, but love; though sex would have been so much wiser.
I hate beyond hate.
Henry knew sin was a challenge to life; not an act of unreason, but an act of courage and determination.
He said it as if ‘very rich’ was a nationality; as perhaps it is.
Do you know that every great thing in the history of art and every beautiful thing in life is actually what you call nasty or has been caused by feelings that you would call nasty? By passion, by love...
But he was absolutely alone. No one ever wrote to him. Visited him. Totally alone. And I believe the happiest man I have ever met.
Birine bağırmak, hala bir bağın bulunduğunu gösterir.
Alive. Alive in the way that death is alive.
Вот она, истина. Не в серпе и молоте. Не в звездах и полосах. Не в распятии. Не в солнце. Не в золоте. Не в инь и ян. В улыбке.
A word (...) is never the destination, merely a signpost in its general direction; and whatever (...) body that destination finally acquires owes quite as much to the reader as to the writer.
Всего три слова. Я люблю вас. Они прозвучали так безнадежно. Будто он сказал: «Я болен раком». Вот и вся его сказка.