I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind, and that wherever I went afterwards I should feel the lack of it, and search for it hopelessly, as ghosts are said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world.

Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them.

Of children as of procreation -- the pleasure momentary, the posture ridiculous, the expense damnable

He did not fail in love, but he lost the joy of it [...]

There is an Easter sense in which all things are made new in the risen Christ. A tiny gleam of this is reflected in all true art.

Most writers in the course of their careers become thick-skinned and learn to accept vituperation, which in any other profession would be unimaginably offensive, as a healthy counterpoise to unintelligent praise.

Where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?