Growing old is not a gradual decline, but a series of drops, full of sorrow, from one ledge to another below it.

The great art of writing is the art of making people real to themselves with words.

But why wasn't I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night?

Give me a bed and a book and I am happy.

I like to walk down Bond Street, thinking of all the things I don't desire.

Only those who get into scrapes with their eyes open can find the safe way out.

What I like in a good author is not what he says but what he whispers.