All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.

Without class differences, England would cease to be the living theatre it is.

I conclude that there is as much sense in nonsense as there is nonsense in sense.

Art is rare and sacred and hard work, and there ought to be a wall of fire around it.

Violence among young people is an aspect of their desire to create. They don't know how to use their energy creatively so they do the opposite and destroy.

Elgar is not manic enough to be Russian, not witty or pointilliste enough to be French, not harmonically simple enough to be Italian and not stodgy enough to be German. We arrive at his Englishry by pure elimination.

Reviewers do not read books with much care . . . their profession is more given to stupidity and malice and literary ignorance even than the profession of novelist.