We are all serving a life sentence in the dungeon of the self.

There are many who dare not kill themselves for fear of what the neighbours will say.

The only way for writers to meet is to share a quick peek over a common lamp-post.

It is the fear of middle-age in the young, of old-age in the middle-aged, which is the prime cause of infidelity, that infallible rejuvenator.

Green leaves on a dead tree is our epitaph-green leaves, dear reader, on a dead tree.

It is significant comment on the victory of science over magic that were someone to say ‘if I put this pill in your beer it will explode,’ we might believe them; but were they to cry ‘if I pronounce this spell over your beer it will go flat,’ we should remain incredulous and Paracelsus, the Alchemists, Aleister Crowley and all the Magi have lived in vain. Yet when I read science I turn magical; when I study magic, scientific.

Believing in Hell must distort every judgement on this life.