The beautiful seems right by force of beauty, and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour; riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work.
The middlebrow is the man, or woman, of middlebred intelligence who ambles and saunters now on this side of the hedge, now on that, in pursuit of no single object, neither art itself nor life itself, but both mixed indistinguishably, and rather nastily, with money, fame, power, or prestige.
Humour is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
Novels so often provide an anodyne and not an antidote, glide one into torpid slumbers instead of rousing one with a burning brand.
The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.
Most of a modest woman's life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.
Without self-confidence we are as babes in the cradles. And how can we generate this imponderable quality, which is yet so invaluable most quickly? By thinking that other people are inferior to oneself.
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others
This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing-room.
The current flows fast and furious. It issues in a spate of words from the loudspeakers and the politicians. Every day they tell us that we are a free people fighting to defend freedom. That is the current that has whirled the young airman up into the sky and keeps him circulating there among the clouds. Down here, with a roof to cover us and a gas mask handy, it is our business to puncture gas bags and discover the seeds of truth.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
You send a boy to school in order to make friends - the right sort.