Novel writing is a kind of private pleasure, even if nothing comes of it in worldly terms.

Once outside the magic circle the writers became their lonely selves, pondering on poems, observing their fellow men ruthlessly, putting people they knew into novels; no wonder they were without friends.

Oh, this coming back to an empty house,' Rupert thought, when he had seen her safely up to her door. People - though perhaps it was only women - seemed to make so much of it. As if life itself were not as empty as the house one was coming back to.

What a good thing there is no marriage or giving in marriage in the after-life; it will certainly help to smooth things out.

Perhaps I need some shattering experience to awaken and inspire me, or at least to give me some emotion to recollect in tranquility. But how to get it? Sit here and wait for it or go out and seek it? . . . I expect it will be sit and wait.

Dulcie always found a public library a little upsetting, for one saw so many odd people there.

I stretched out my hand towards the little bookshelf where I kept cookery and devotional books, the most comfortable bedside reading.