In the dust where we have buried the silent races and their abominations we have buried so much of the delicate magic of life.

For even satire is a form of sympathy. It is the way our sympathy flows and recoils that really determines our lives. And here lies the vast importance of the novel, properly handled. It can inform and lead into new places our sympathy away in recoil from things gone dead. Therefore the novel, properly handled, can reveal the most secret places of life: for it is the passional secret places of life, above all, that the tide of sensitive awareness needs to ebb and flow, cleansing and freshening.

I believe the nearest I've come to perfect love was with a young coal-miner when I was about 16.

Evil, what is evil? There is only one evil, to deny life As Rome denied Etruria And mechanical America Montezuma still

And that is how we are. By strength of will we cut off our inner intuitive knowledge from admitted consciousness. This causes a state of dread, or apprehension, which makes the blow ten times worse when it does fall.

Only the flow matters; live and let live, love and let love. There is no point in love.

I do esteem individual liberty above everything.