Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.

After all, what is a lovely phrase? One that has mopped up as much Truth as it can hold.

Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.

Let us not take for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.

Novels so often provide an anodyne and not an antidote, glide one into torpid slumbers instead of rousing one with a burning brand.

To stand in a great bookshop crammed with books so new that their pages almost stick together, and the gilt on their backs is still fresh, has an excitement no less delightful than the old excitement of the second-hand bookstall.

So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.