The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed after all a gentle habitable place; and night after night a man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the fields, where God keeps an open house.

He who sows hurry reaps indigestion.

If it comes to a swinging, swing all, say I.

The ideal story is that of two people who go into love step for step, with a fluttered consciousness, like a pair of children venturing together into a dark room.

When I say writing, O believe me, it is rewriting that I have chiefly in mind.

Marriage is like life - it is a field of battle, not a bed of roses.

I believe in an ultimate decency of things.