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.

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

The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.

She loved him absolutely, perhaps for half an hour.

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.

But Humanity, in its desire for comfort, had over-reached itself. It had exploited the riches of nature too far. Quietly and complacently, it was sinking into decadence, and progress had come to mean the progress of the Machine.

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