When one is a child, the disposition of objects, tables and chairs and doors, seems part of the natural order: a house-move lets in chaos - as it does for a dog.

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

The wish to lead out one's lover must be a tribal feeling; the wish to be seen as loved is part of one's self-respect.

First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context.

[A writer] should try not to be too far, personally, below the level of his work.

Disappointment tears the bearable film off life.

In big houses in which things are done properly, there is always the religious element. The diurnal cycle is observed with more feeling when there are servants to do the work.