To be in love is to see yourself as someone else sees you, it is to be in love with the falsified and exalted image of yourself. In love we are incapable of honor - the courageous act is no more than playing a part to an audience of two.
One's life is more formed, I sometimes think, by books than by human beings: it is out of books one learns about love and pain at second hand.
Unhappiness in a child accumulates because he sees no end to the dark tunnel. The thirteen weeks of a term might just as well be thirteen years.
Thought's a luxury. Do you think the peasant sits and thinks of God and Democracy when he gets inside his mud hut at night?
The economy of a novelist is a little like that of a careful housewife who is unwilling to throw away anything that might perhaps serve its turn.
Success is more dangerous than failure, the ripples break over a wider coastline.
It is one of the strange discoveries a man can make that life, however you lead it, contains moments of exhilaration; there are always comparisons which can be made with worse times: even in danger and misery the pendulum swings.
Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
I hate you, God. I hate you as though you actually exist.
In our hearts there is a ruthless dictator, ready to contemplate the misery of a thousand strangers if it will ensure the happiness of the few we love.
Point me out the happy man and I will point you out either egotism, selfishness, evil - or else an absolute ignorance.
We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.
Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
It was as though our love were a small creature caught in a trap and bleeding to death: I had to shut my eyes and wring its neck.
For an artist to think in terms of success is like a priest trying to think in terms of success.
So long as one is happy one can endure any discipline: it was unhappiness that broke down the habits of work.
All good novelists have bad memories.
One never knows enough about characters in real life to put them into novels. One gets started and then, suddenly, one can not remember what toothpaste they use; what are their views on interior decoration, and one is stuck utterly. No, major characters emerge; minor ones may be photographed.
I had very good dentures once. Some magnificent gold work. It's the only form of jewelry a man can wear that women fully appreciate.
Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?
I had never known her before and I had never loved her so much. The more we know the more we love, I thought.
You cannot control what you love--you watch it driving recklessly towards the broken bridge, the torn-up track, the horror of seventy years ahead.
They can print statistics and count the populations in hundreds of thousands, but to each man a city consists of no more than a few streets, a few houses, a few people. Remove those few and a city exists no longer except as a pain in the memory, like a pain of an amputated leg no longer there.
If two people loved, they slept together; it was a mathematical formula, tested and proved by human experience.
We can love with our minds, but can we love only with our minds? Love extends itself all the time, so that we can love even with our senseless nails: we love even with our clothes, so that a sleeve can feel a sleeve.
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