A cat only has itself.

How could people like these, without words to put to their emotions and passions, manage? They could, at best, only suffer dumbly. Their pains and humiliations would work themselves out in their characters alone: like evil spirits possessing a body, so that the body itself might appear innocent of what it did.

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.

The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.

It is wrong to have an ideal view of the world. That's where the mischief starts. That's where everything starts unravelling.

Africans need to be kicked, that's the only thing they understand.

We cannot understand all the traits we have inherited. Sometimes we can be strangers to ourselves.