Outside the arch, always there seemed another arch. And beyond the remotest echo, a silence.

Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land.

The novelist, unlike many of his colleagues, makes up a number of word-masses roughly describing himself (roughly: niceties shallcome later), gives them names and sex, assigns them plausible gestures, and causes them to speak by the use of inverted commas, and perhaps to behave consistently.

Passion does not blind. No. Passion is sanity, and the woman you love, she is the only person you will ever really understand.

Solidity, caution, integrity, efficiency. Lack of imagination, hypocrisy. These qualities characterize the middle classes in everycountry, but in England they are national characteristics.

Faith, to my mind, is a stiffening process, a sort of mental starch.

Pity wraps the student of the past in an ambrosial cloud, and washes his limbs with eternal youth.