Writing is above all a question of instinct.
Writing is a combination of intangible creative fantasy and appallingly hard work.
I get a warm feeling among my books.
Books do furnish a room.
He fell in love with himself at first sight and it is a passion to which he has always remained faithful. Selflove seems so often unrequited.
When people really hate one another, the tension within them can sometimes make itself felt throughout a room, like atmospheric waves, first hot, then cold, wafted backwards and forwards as if in an invisible process of air conditioning, creating a pervasive physical disturbance.