She had one of those charming faces which, according to the angle from which you see them, look either melancholy or impertinent. Her eyes were grey; her trick of narrowing them made her seem to reflect, the greater part of the time, in the dusk of her second thoughts. With that mood, that touch of arriere pensee, went an uncertain, speaking set of lips.

Experience isn't interesting until it begins to repeat itself. In fact, till it does that, it hardly is experience.

Darling, I don't want you; I've got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don't want the whole of anyone.... What you want is the whole of me-isn't it, isn't it?-and the whole of me isn't there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don't exist.

I am fully intelligent only when I write. I have a certain amount of small-change intelligence, which I carry round with me as, at any rate in a town, one has to carry small money, for the needs of the day, the non-writing day. But it seems to me I seldom purely think ... if I thought more I might write less.

All your youth you want to have your greatness taken for granted; when you find it taken for granted, you are unnerved.

I think the main thing, don't you, is to keep the show on the road.

Nothing can happen nowhere. The locale of the happening always colours the happening, and often, to a degree, shapes it.