I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.
Happiness is to have a little string onto which things will attach themselves.
Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.
Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and escape from here and now.
I like the copious, shapeless, warm, not so very clever, but extremely easy and rather coarse aspect of things; the talk of men in clubs and public-houses; of miners half naked in drawers the forthright, perfectly unassuming, and without end in view except dinner, love, money and getting along tolerably; that which is without great hopes, ideals, or anything of that kind; what is unassuming except to make a tolerably, good job of it. I like all that.
For the film maker must come by his convention, as painters and writers and musicians have done before him.
I see through most people; I'm hardly ever wrong. I see at once what they've got in them.
It rasped her, though, to have stirring about in her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul; never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred.
By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream
Finally, I would thank, had I not lost his name and address, a gentleman in America, who has generously and gratuitously corrected the punctuation, the botany, the entomology, the geography, and the chronology of previous works of mine and will, I hope, not spare his services on the present occasion.
I grow numb; I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?
Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigues, I have had my vision.
Now, aged 50, I'm just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.
To be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
As for my next book, I won't write it till it has grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.
I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
Nothing, however, can be more arrogant, though nothing is commoner than to assume that of Gods there is only one, and of religions none but the speaker’s.
It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
Books are everywhere; and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.
The streets of London have their map, but our passions are uncharted. What are you going to meet if you turn this corner?
Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.
Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?
All the months are crude experiments, out of which the perfect September is made.
In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June.
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