Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
One can only believe entirely, perhaps, in what one cannot see.
But I think I’m coloured by my own wishes, & experimental mood.
For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty.
writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.
Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual
Be truthful, and the result is bound to be amazingly interesting.
She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.
But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he.
Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.
I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
We must reconcile ourselves to a season of failures and fragments.
The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering.
Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever.
You send a boy to school in order to make friends - the right sort.
History is too much about wars; biography too much about great men.
Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.
fishing teaches a stern morality; inculcates a remorseless honesty.
Nothing is stronger than the position of the dead among the living.
As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking.
The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.
There was no freedom in life, and certainly there was none in death.
But the close withdrew: the hand softened. It was over-- the moment.
Sometimes I think heaven must be one continuous unexhausted reading.
Like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure of life.
When an arguer argues dispassionately he thinks only of the argument.
Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you
These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom.
Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.
And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life.
No, I'm not clever. I've always cared more for people than for ideas.
It doesn't have to be the truth, just your vision of it, written down.
On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.
There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.
Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!
Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.
The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.
Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.
Art is not a copy of the real world; one of the damn things is enough.
As a woman I have no country. As a woman my country is the whole world.
Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.
[Ulysses is] the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples.
Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
The future is dark, which is the best thing the future can be, I think.
Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.
He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.
Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?
No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.