I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away. The light and air abot me told me that the world ended here: only the ground and sun and sky were left, and if one went a little farther there would only be sun and sky, and one would float off into them, like the tawny hawks which sailed over our heads making slow shadows on the grass.

The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself.

There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.

Human relationships are the tragic necessity of human life; that they can never be wholly satisfactory, that every ego is half the time greedily seeking them, and half the time pulling away from them.

Imagination, which is a quality writers must have, does not mean the ability to weave pretty stories out of nothing. In the right sense, imagination is a response to what is going on — a sensitiveness to which outside things appeal. It is a composition of sympathy and observation.

After all, the supreme virtue in all art is soul, perhaps it is the only thing which gives art a right to be.

Religion is different from everything else; because in religion seeking is finding.