One passes through the world knowing few, if any, of the important things about even the people with whom one has been from time to time in the closest intimacy.

Literature illuminates life only for those to whom books are a necessity.

The whole idea of interviews is in itself absurd - one cannot answer deep questions about what one's life was like - one writes novels about it.

Self-love seems so often unrequited.

Dinner at the Huntercombes' possessed only two dramatic features - the wine was a farce and the food a tragedy.

I was impressed for the ten thousandth time by the fact that literature illuminates life only for those to whom books are a necessity. Books are unconvertible assets, to be passed on only to those who possess them already.

Self-pity is essentially humorless, devoid of that lightness of touch which gives understanding of life.