Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely? All this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?

Almost any biographer, if he respects facts, can give us much more than another fact to add to our collection. He can give us the creative fact; the fertile fact; the fact that suggests and engenders.

But nevertheless, the fact remained, it was almost impossible to dislike anyone if one looked at them.

There was a day when I liked writing letters -- it has gone. Unfortunately the passion for getting them remains.

Why does Samuel Butler say, 'Wise men never say what they think of women'? Wise men never say anything else apparently.

One ought to sink to the bottom of the sea, probably, and live alone with one's words.