I can't see or feel the conflict between love and religion. To me, they're the same thing.

Some ideas, like dandelions in lawns, strike tenaciously: you may pull off the top but the root remains, drives down suckers and may even sprout again.

Nothing, that is say no one, can be such an inexorable tour-conductor as one's own conscience or sense of duty, if one allows either the upper hand: the self-bullying that goes on in the name of sight-seeing is grievous.

Wariness had driven away poetry; from hesitating to feel came the moment when you no longer could.

Good general-purpose manners nowadays may be said to consist in knowing how much you can get away with.

The novelist's--any writer's--object is to whittle down his meaning to the exactest and finest possible point. What, of course, isfatal is when he does not know what he does mean: he has no point to sharpen.

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