So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again...
Are we not acceptable, moon? Are we not lovely sitting together here, I in my satin; he in black and white?
How then does light return to the world after the eclipse of the sun? Miraculously. Frailly. In thin stripes. It hangs like a glass cage. It is a hoop to be fractured by a tiny jar. There is a spark t...
Life, it has been agreed by everyone whose opinion is worth consulting, is the only fit subject for novelist or biographer; life, the same authorities have decided, has nothing whatever to do with sit...
For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
I've just stopped talking to you. It seems so strange. It's perfectly peaceful here--they're playing bowls--I'd just put flowers in your room. And there you sit with the bombs falling around you. What...
He felt himself now, as he had often fancied other people, adrift on the stream, and far removed from control of it, a man with no grasp upon circumstances any longer. Old battered man loafing at the...
Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.
Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.
And if we can imagine the art of fiction come alive and standing in our midst, she would undoubtedly bid us break her and bully her, as well as honour and love her, for so her youth is renewed and her...
. . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude.
The telephone, which interrupts the most serious conversations and cuts short the most weighty observations, has a romance of its own.
Flinging himself from his horse, he made, in his rage, as if he would breast the flood. Standing knee-deep in water he hurled at the faithless woman all the insults that have ever been the lot of her...
They all dreamt of each other that night, as was natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how strangely they had been lifted off the earth to sit next each other in mid-ocea...
To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.
The history of men's opposition to women's emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.
It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.
Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.
Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?