Perhaps this is in the end what most marriages are - gentleness, memory, and habit.

The critic's hankering to be law-giver rather than servant of literature is irrepressible.

From so much of this seriously-intended pornography there rises, even when it is lewdly or boisterously comic, the acrid smell, unmistakable, of self-dislike.

My mind is not suited to go much into company.

To reject censorship after studying the risks involved is very well. To reject it ex cathedra, in the tones of Calvin pronouncing a dogma, eyes and mind closed to the possible consequences, the even marginally possible, is to make things too comfortable for oneself.

I do not think about absent persons as often or with such intense longing as I think of places. They lie one below the other in my mind.

All pornography is to a degree sadistic - inevitably.