She had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and she felt, It is enough! It is enough!

Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.

Mental fight means thinking against the current, not with it. It is our business to puncture gas bags and discover seeds of truth.

Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigues, I have had my vision.

You can't think how I depend on you, and when you're not there the colour goes out of my life.

writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.

The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.