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

A work of art is never finished. It is merely abandoned.

Love is always being given where it is not required.

The bully and his victim never quite forget their first relations.

A funeral is not death, any more than baptism is birth or marriage union. All three are the clumsy devices, coming now too late, now too early, by which Society would register the quick motions of man.

If human nature does alter it will be because individuals manage to look at themselves in a new way. Here and there people - a very few people, but a few novelists are among them - are trying to do this. Every institution and vested interest in against such a search: organized religion, the state, the family in its economic aspect, have nothing to gain, and it is only when outward prohibitions weaken that it can proceed: history conditions it to that extent.

Reformers who are obsessed with purity and cannot see that their obsession is impure.