One must love everything.

The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.

I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens.

But when we sit together, close,’ said Bernard, ‘we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory.

Without self awareness we are as babies in the cradles.

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that is must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.

To survive, each sentence must have, at its heart, a little spark of fire, and this, whatever the risk, the novelist must pluck with his own hands from the blaze.