When you love someone all your saved up wishes start coming out.
In 'real life' everything is diluted; in the novel everything is condensed.
Mr. [Aldous] Huxley has been the alarming young man for a long time, a sort of perpetual clever nephew who can be relied on to flutter the lunch party. Whatever will he say next? How does he think of those things? He has been deplored once or twice, but feeling is in his favor: he is steadily read. He is at once the truly clever person and the stupid person's idea of the clever person; he is expected to be relentless, to administer intellectual shocks.
Nothing can happen nowhere. The locale of the happening always colours the happening, and often, to a degree, shapes it.
But to be quite oneself one must first waste a little time.
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.
Silences can be as different as sounds.
Nobody speaks the truth when there's something they must have.
Writers do not find subjects; subjects find them.
We are minor in everything but our passions.
life is a succession of readjustments.
It is not helpful to help a friend by putting coins in his pockets when he has got holes in his pockets.
If you look at life one way, there is always cause for alarm.
memory is to love what the saucer is to the cup.
Chance is better than choice; it is more lordly. Chance is God, choice is man.
The novel does not simply recount experience, it adds to experience.
I think the main thing, don't you, is to keep the show on the road.
Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that we live, if we do.
The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet - when they do meet, their victims lie strewn all round.
somehow at parties at which one stays standing up one seems to require to be more concentratedly intelligent than one does at those at which one can sit down.
Mechanical difficulties with language are the outcome of internal difficulties with thought.
Some ideas, like dandelions in lawns, strike tenaciously: you may pull off the top but the root remains, drives down suckers and may even sprout again.
Silences have a climax, when you have got to speak.
The best that an individual can do is to concentrate on what he or she can do, in the course of a burning effort to do it better.
without fiction, either life would be insufficient or the winds from the north would blow too cold.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: