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

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.

Language exists less to record the actual than to liberate the imagination.

I mean, there's little enough in this life, really, and you only find it worth living for the odd moments, and if you think you're going to have those odd moments again, then it makes life wonderful and have a meaning.

Every grain of experience is food for the greedy growing soul of the artist.

A character, to be acceptable as more than a chess piece, has to be ignorant of the future, unsure about the past, and not at all sure of what he's supposed to be doing.

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