One must be businesslike, although the glass is falling.

My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.

Among the many problems which beset the novelist, not the least weighty is the choice of the moment at which to begin his novel.

It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.

however many resolutions one makes, one's pen, like water, always finds its own level, and one can't write in any way other than one's own.

I loved you when love was Spring, and May, Loved you when summer deepened into June, and now when autumn yellows all the leaves.

Travel is in sad case. It is uncomfortable, it is expensive; it is a source of annoyance to our friends, and of loneliness to ourselves.