The ostrich burying its head in the sand does at any rate wish to convey the impression that its head is the most important part of it.

I feel I must live alone, alone, alone - with artists only to touch the door. Every artist cuts off his ear and nails it on the outside of the door for the others to shout into.

To long for everything: sorrow; to accept everything: joy.

I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.

Do you remember your childhood? I am always coming across these marvelous accounts by writers who declare that they remember 'everything.' I certainly don't. The dark stretches, the blanks, are much bigger than the bright glimpses. I seem to have spent most of my time like a plant in a cupboard.

Who is to decide between 'Let it be' and 'Force it'?

roses are the only flowers at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing.