What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?

The Labour Party of today has fits of horrors of the very thought of somebody like me might saying that they bought in white Australia. But I believe they did.

How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.

My books and other works are my legacy, and it's a great comfort to know that mine is a legacy of pleasure for other people.

Best of all she liked his eyes, such a translucent golden brown, and so laughing.

Love and hate are cruel, only liking is kind