Oh, it was gorgeosity and yumyumyum. When it came to the Scherzo I could viddy myself very clear running and running on like the very light and mysterious nogas, carving the whole litso of the creeching world with my cut-throat britva.

As we grow older, the memories of early life brighten, those of maturity and senescence grow dim and confused.

Literature ceases to be literature when it commits itself to moral uplift; it becomes moral philosophy or some such dull thing.

I don't write out of fear. I write out of a strong urge to meet death on its own eternal terms, because the fact is that if you write as little as a page of prose-even bad prose-that is eternal.

Only in England is the perversion of language regarded as a victory for democracy.

It had been a wonderful evening and what I needed now, to give it the perfect ending, was a little of the Ludwig Van.

Life is, of course, terrible.