Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard.

When the leaves rustle, they sound very much like the stealthy movement of a woman in evening dress, and when they shiver suddenly, and fall, and scatter away along the ground, they might be the patter of a woman’s hurrying footsteps, and the mark in the gravel the imprint of a high-heeled shoe.

I could not ask forgiveness for something I had not done. As scapegoat, I could only bear the fault.

What about the hero of The House on the Strand? What did it mean when he dropped the telephone at the end of the book? I don't really know, but I rather think he was going to be paralysed for life. Don't you?

Living as we do in an age of noise and bluster, success is now measured accordingly. We must all be seen, and heard, and on the air.

Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard.

Here was the freedom I desired, long sought-for, not yet known Freedom to write, to walk, to wander, freedom to climb hills, to pull a boat, to be alone.