I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts, or my thoughts the result of my dreams. |
I can't bear art that you can walk round and admire. A book should be either a bandit or a rebel or a man in the crowd. |
I can't do with mountains at close quarters -- they are always in the way, and they are so stupid, never moving and never doing anything but obtrude themselves. |
I cannot be a materialist -- but Oh, how is it possible that a God who speaks to all hearts can let Belgravia go laughing to a vicious luxury, and White chapel cursing to a filthy debauchery -- such suffering, such dreadful suffering -- and shall the |
I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies--thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us. |
I cannot get any sense of an enemy - only of a disaster. |
I don't like your miserable lonely single ''front name.'' It is so limited, so meager; it has no versatility; it is weighted down with the sense of responsibility; it is worn threadbare with much use; it is as bad as having only one jacket and one hat; it is like having only one relation, one blood relation, in the world. Never set a child afloat on the flat sea of life with only one sail to catch the wind. |
I feel I cannot touch humanity, even in thought, it is abhorrent to me. But a work of art is an act of faith, as Michael Angelo says, and one goes on writing, to the unseen witnesses. |
I got the blues thinking of the future, so I left off and made some marmalade. It's amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges and scrub the floor. |
I hate the actor and audience business. An author should be in among the crowd, kicking their shins or cheering them on to some mischief or merriment. |
I hold that the parentheses are by far the most important parts of a non-business letter. |
I know the greatness of Christianity; it is a past greatness.... I live in 1924, and the Christian venture is done. |
I like to write when I feel spiteful; it's like having a good sneeze |
I never knew how soothing trees are - many trees and patches of open sunlight, and tree-presences - it is almost like having another being |
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself. |