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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
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.
For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.
She felt... how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach.
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.
The beauty of the world...has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is...at last, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away...
So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.
I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.
Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.