What a comfort is friendship in this world.

He lay on his chair with his hands clasped above his paunch not reading, or sleeping, but basking like a creature gorged with existence.

Beauty was not everything. Beauty had this penalty — it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life — froze it.

With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes -- one of the tragedies of married life.

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.

All extremes are dangerous.

Let a man get up and say, Behold, this is the truth, and instantly I perceive a sandy cat filching a piece of fish in the background. Look, you have forgotten the cat, I say.