My publisher, who was so good as a taster and editor, when she became a writer, lo and behold, it was all this feminine tosh.

I came to London. It had become the center of my world and I had worked hard to come to it. And I was lost.

My publisher, who was so good as a taster and editor, when she became a writer, lo and behold, it was all this feminine tosh.

I could meet dreadful people and end up seeing the world through their eyes, seeing their frailties, their needs.

Everybody is interesting for an hour, but few people can last more than two.

It was a good place for getting lost in, a city no one ever knew, a city explored from the neutral heart outward, until after many years, it defined itself into a jumble of clearings separated by stretches of the unknown, through which the narrowest of paths had been cut.

My life is short. I can't listen to banality.