Like all her friends, I miss her greatly...But...I am sure there is no case for lamentation...Virginia Woolf got through an immense amount of work, she gave acute pleasure in new ways, she pushed the light of the English language a little further against darkness. Those are facts.

At night, when the curtains are drawn and the fire flickers, my books attain a collective dignity.

The sun was already declining and each of the trees held a premonition of night.

I am so used to seeing the sort of play which deals with one man and two women. They do not leave me with the feeling I have made a full theatrical meal they do not give me the experience of the multiplicity of life.

God is not Love in the East. He is Power, although Mercy may temper it.

Growing old is an emotion which comes over us at almost any age; I had it myself between the ages of 25 and 30.

Only a writer who has the sense of evil can make goodness readable.