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The nights now are full of wind and destruction; the trees plunge and bend and their leaves fly helter skelter until the lawn is plastered with them a...more

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As summer neared, as the evening lengthened there came to the wakeful, the hopeful, walking the beach, stirring the pool, imaginations of the stranges...more

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No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes

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The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.

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Nothing induces me to read a novel except when I have to make money by writing about it. I detest them.

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That is why Napoleon and Mussolini both insist so emphatically upon the inferiority of women, for if they were not inferior, they would cease to enlar...more

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Shakespeare is getting flyblown; a paternal government might well forbid writing about him, as they put his monument at Stratford beyond the reach of ...more

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Flinging himself from his horse, he made, in his rage, as if he would breast the flood. Standing knee-deep in water he hurled at the faithless woman a...more

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Does it explain my astonishment the other day when Z, most humane, most modest of men, taking up some book by Rebecca West and reading a passage in it...more

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Then may I tell you that the very next words I read were these – ‘Chloe liked Olivia…’ Do not start. Do not blush. Let us admit in the privacy of our ...more

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I find myself saying briefly and prosaically that it is much more important to be oneself than anything else. Do not dream of influencing other people...more

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I should never be able to fulfill what is,I understand, the first duty of a lecturer-to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to w...more

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However, the majority of women are neither harlots nor courtesans; nor do they sit clasping pug dogs to dusty velvet all through the summer afternoon....more

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My belief is that if we live another century or so — I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which...more

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She seemed a compound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine ...