What I have found is, anything one keeps hidden should now and then be hidden somewhere else.

Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting’s sake -- much as we relive, brood, and smoulder over our pasts.

But surely love wouldn't get so much talked about if there were not something in it?

She walked about with the rather fated expression you see in photographs of girls who have subsequently been murdered, but nothing had so far happened to her.

... into the novel goes such taste as I have for rational behaviour and social portraiture. The short story, as I see it to be, allows for what is crazy about humanity: obstinacies, inordinate heroisms, "immortal longings.

Mechanical difficulties with language are the outcome of internal difficulties with thought.

The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.