I have done so many things in my life," she said to the mirror. "Evil things, perhaps. But never unattentively, never wastefully...was I wrong?

Truth disappears with the telling of it.

These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their own kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean.

I suppose the secret of his success is in his tremendous idleness which almost approaches the supernatural.

We should tackle reality in a slightly jokey way, otherwise we miss its point.

Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.

A woman's best love letters are always written to the man she is betraying.