I am interested in the past. Perhaps one of the reasons is we cannot make, cannot change the past. I mean you can hardly unmake the present. But the past after all is merely to say a memory, a dream. You know my own past seems continually changed when I am remembering it, or reading things that are interesting to me.

In the order of literature, as in others, there is no act that is not the coronation of an infinite series of causes and the source of an infinite series of effects.

Time, which despoils castles, enriches verses.

My father gave me free run of his library. When I think of my boyhood, I think in terms of the books I read.

You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.

My father and he had cemented one of those English friendships which begin by avoiding intimacies and eventually eliminate speech altogether.

To bless thine enemy is a good way to satisfy thy vanity.