Nothing like poetry when you lie awake at night. It keeps the old brain limber. It washes away the mud and sand that keeps on blocking up the bends. Like waves to make the pebbles dance on my old floors. And turn them into rubies and jacinths; or at any rate, good imitations.
Joyce CarySara could commit adultery at one end and weep for her sins at the other, and enjoy both operations at once.
Joyce CaryI had come at last and my heart was beating again strongly to a heart that could not know despair because it forgot itself in the duty of its love.
Joyce Cary