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

But the more poetry one reads the more one longs to read!

Better to write twaddle, anything, than nothing at all.

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.

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

conversation is like a dear little baby that is brought in to be handed round. You must rock it, nurse it, keep it on the move if you want it to keep smiling.

I must say, I hate money. But it's the lack of it I hate most.