Civilised my syphilised yarbles.
The meal was pretentious - a kind of beetroot soup with greasy croutons; pork underdone with loud vulgar cabbage, potato croquettes, tinned peas in tiny jam-tart cases, watery gooseberry sauce; trifle made with a resinous wine, so jammy that all my teeth lit up at once.
It is as inhuman to be totally good as it is to be totally evil.
The unconscious mind has a habit of asserting itself in the afternoon.
He said it was artificial respiration, but now I find I am to have his child.
A man can write one book that can be great, but this doesn't make him a great writer-just the writer of a great book. . . I think a writer has to extend very widely, as well as plunge very deep, to be a great novelist.