Life being all inclusion and confusion, and art being all discrimination and selection, the latter, in search of the hard latent value with which it alone is concerned, sniffs round the mass as instinctively and unerringly as a dog suspicious of some buried bone.

To see deep difficulty braved is at any time, for the really addicted artist, to feel almost even as a pang the beautiful incentive, and to feel it verily in s…

The fatal futility of Fact.

There is, I think, no more nutritive or suggestive truth... than that of the perfect dependence of the 'moral' sense of a work of art on the amount of felt lif…

The secret story is the one we'll never know, although we're living it from day to day, thinking we're alive, thinking we've got it all under control and the s…

No one ever wanted to see it as anything other than a boring play about a middle-aged man having a mid-life crisis. I think it's about rather more than that - …

There is something about the literary life that repels me, all this desperate building of castles on cobwebs, the long-drawn acrimonious struggle to make somet…