Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind.

Artists often think they are going to die before their time. They seem to possess a heightened sense of the passing of the hours.

There is a marvelous turn and trick to British arrogance; its apparent unconsciousness makes it twice as effectual.

Biographers, by their very nature, want to know everything about everybody, dead or alive.

In early days, I tried not to give librarians any trouble, which was where I made my primary mistake. Librarians like to be given trouble; they exist for it, they are geared to it. For the location of a mislaid volume, an uncatalogued item, your good librarian has a ferret’s nose. Give her a scent and she jumps the leash, her eye bright with battle.

What pioneer ever had chart and a lighthouse to steer by?

I have noted that, barring accidents, artists whose powers wear best and last longest are those who have trained themselves to work under adversity. Great artists treasure their time with a bitter and snarling miserliness.