The artist's work constitutes the only satisfactory relationship he can have with his fellow men since he seeks his real friends among the dead and the unborn.

I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!

A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.

You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.

Truth is what most contradicts itself.

It's unthinkable not to love - you'd have a severe nervous breakdown. Or you'd have to be Philip Larkin.

How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work.