But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.

Thoughts without words… Can that be?

Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.

. . . to walk alone in London is the greatest rest.

Writing is still like heaving bricks over a wall.

We are nauseated by the sight of trivial personalities decomposing in the eternity of print.

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. But to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treachery, and the sacrifice of wealth and chastity which used to be said to be the greatest of human disasters, a mere flea-bite in comparison.