I worshipped dead men for their strength, Forgetting I was strong.

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

Click, clack, click, clack, went their conversation, like so many knitting-needles, purl, plain, purl, plain, achieving a complex pattern of references, cross-references, Christian names, nicknames, and fleeting allusions.

There are no signposts in the sea.

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

I worshipped dead men for their strength, Forgetting I was strong.

It is no good my telling you. One never believes other people's experiencem and one is only very gradually convinced by one's own.