She envied Ralph his dying, for if one were thinking of rest that was the most perfect of all. To cease utterly, to give it all up and not know anything more — this idea was as sweet as the vision of a cool bath in a marble tank, in a darkened chamber, in a hot land.

He was there or was not there: not there if I didn't see him.

She had an unequalled gift, especially pen in hand, of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.

His kiss was like white lightning, a flash that spread, and spread again, and stayed.

However British you may be, I am more British still.

Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out the window.

To live in the world of creation-to get into it and stay in it-to frequent it and haunt it...to think intently and fruitfully, to woo combinations and inspirations into being by a depth and continuity of attention and meditation-this is the only thing.