I am a person before I am anything else. I never say I am a writer. I never say I am an artist...I am a person who does those things.

It's well we cannot hear the screams we make in other people's dreams.

Such excess of passion is quite out of fashion

I should like a parsley sandwich. To the best of my knowledge they are not in season.

A small and sinister snow seems to be coming down relentlessly at present. The radio says it is eventually going to be sleet and rain, but I don't think so; I think it is just going to go on and on, coming down, until the whole world...etc. It has that look.

All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.

Mr Earbrass stands on the terrace at twilight. It is bleak; it is cold; and the virtue has gone out of everything. Words drift through his mind: anguish turnips conjunctions illness defeat string parties no parties urns desuetude disaffection claws loss Trebizond napkins shame stones distance fever Antipodes mush glaciers incoherence labels miasma amputation tides deceit mourning elsewards.