There are occasions when I would rather feel like a fly than a spider.

England still waits for the supreme moment of her literature--for the great poet who shall voice her, or, better still, for the thousand little poets whose voices shall pass into our common talk.

The traveller who has gone to Italy to study the tactile values of Giotto, or the corruption of the Papacy, may return remembering nothing but the blue sky and the men and women who live under it.

Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love.

Belfastas uncivilised as ever--savage black mothers in houses of dark red brick, friendly manufacturers too drunk to entertain you when you arrive. It amuses me till I get tired.

Charm, in most men and nearly all women, is a decoration.

Neanderthal man listened to stories, if one may judge by the shape of his skull.