Bring all your intelligence to bear on your beginning.

People in love, in whom every sense is open, cannot beat off the influence of a place.

Don't you understand that all language is dead currency? How they keep on playing shop with it all the same.

Spoilt pleasure is a sad, unseemly thing; you can only bury it.

Nobody speaks the truth when there's something they must have.

Mr. [Aldous] Huxley has been the alarming young man for a long time, a sort of perpetual clever nephew who can be relied on to flutter the lunch party. Whatever will he say next? How does he think of those things? He has been deplored once or twice, but feeling is in his favor: he is steadily read. He is at once the truly clever person and the stupid person's idea of the clever person; he is expected to be relentless, to administer intellectual shocks.

I became, and remain, my characters' close and intent watcher: their director, never. Their creator I cannot feel that I was, or am.