The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights.

Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.

... even in houses commonly held to be 'booky' one finds, nine times out of ten, not a library but a book-dump.

Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose.

... caprice is as ruinous as routine.

In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.

It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.