Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.

Now stiff on a pillar with a phallic air nelson stylites in Trafalgar square reminds the British what once they were.

Everything really desirable has come about because of, or in spite of, wine!

I have been thinking about the girl I met last night in the mirror: dark on the marble-ivory white: glossy black hair: deep suspiring eyes in which one's glances sink because they are nervous, curious, turned to sexual curiosity.

Odd, isn't it? He really was the right man for her in a sort of way; but then as you know, it is a law of love that the so-called 'right' person always comes to soon or too late.

It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible, you'd do something else.

Old age is an insult. It's like being smacked.