Ghosts, we hope, may be always with us - that is, never too far out of the reach of fancy. On the whole, it would seem they adapt themselves well, perhaps better than we do, to changing world conditions - they enlarge their domain, shift their hold on our nerves, and, dispossessed of one habitat, set up house in another. The universal battiness of our century looks like providing them with a propitious climate.

Forgiveness should be an act, but this is a state with him.

Fantasy is toxic: the private cruelty and the world war both have their start in the heated brain.

Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again.

Ireland is a great country to die or be married in.

the slight sense of degeneracy induced by reading novels before luncheon

Sins cut boldly up through every class in society, but mere misdemeanours show a certain level in life.