I suspect that in our loathing of totalitarianism, there is infused a good deal of admiration for its efficiency.

Our emotions Are only “incidents” In the effort to keep day and night together.

Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.

Artistic inevitability lies in the complete adequacy of the external to the emotion.

If one has to earn a living, therefore, the safest occupation is that most remote from the arts.

Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them.

In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth Which is already flesh, fur and faeces, Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.