Everything was in stark and dreadful contrast with the trivial crises and counterfeit emotions of Hollywood, and I returned to England deeply moved and emotionally worn out.

I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea.

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beginning at to continue to the end.

Perhaps that suspicion of fraud enhances the flavor.

When I die there may be a paragraph or two in the newspapers. My name will linger in the British Museum Reading Room catalogue for a space at the head of a long list of books for which no one will ever ask.

The fools ran after me and I ran after the whores, foolish though I realized such a proceeding to be.

I have heard of novels started in the middle, at the end, written in patches to be joined together later, but I have never felt the slightest desire to do this.