What a fine persecution—to be kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened.

It's no trick loving somebody at their best. Love is loving them at their worst.

You can persuade a man to believe almost anything provided he is clever enough, but it is much more difficult to persuade someone less clever.

We're better at predicting events at the edge of the galaxy or inside the nucleus of an atom than whether it'll rain on auntie's garden party three Sundays from now.

Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day ... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore.

I cannot say that I write with any social objective. One writes because one loves writing, really.