We forget very easily what gives us pain.

One has no talent. I have no talent. It's just a question of working, of being willing to put in the time.

Failure too is a form of death.

He gave her a bright fake smile; so much of life was a putting off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing was ever lost by delay. He had a dim idea that perhaps if one delayed long enough, things were taken out of one's hands altogether by death.

As the end of the what is called the 'sexual life' the only love which has lasted is the love which has everything, every disappointment, every failure and every betrayal, which has accepted even the sad fact that in the end there is no desire so deep as the simple desire for companionship.

It is always of interest to know what strikes another human being as remarkable.

O God, You've done enough, You've robbed me of enough, I'm too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone for ever.