She wasn't a person to whom things happen. She did all the happenings.
Ridicule is the only honorable weapon we have left.
I see no reason to keep silent about my enjoyment of the sound of my own voice as I work.
If you choose the sort of life which has no conventional pattern you have to try to make an art of it, or it is a mess.
Beware the ire of the calm.
From my experience of life I believe my personal motto should be: 'Beware of any man bringing flowers.
A rebellion against a tyrant is only immoral when it hasn't got a chance.
The true novelist is one who understands the work as a continuous poem, is a myth-maker, and the wonder of the art resides in the endless different ways of telling a story.
I never trust the airlines from those countries where the pilots believe in the afterlife. You are safer when they don't.
everything happens to an artist; time is always redeemed, nothing is lost and wonders never cease.
You look for one thing and you find another.
If I had my life over again I should form the habit of nightly composing myself to thoughts of death. I would practise, as it were, the remembrance of death. There is no other practice which so intensifies life. Death, when it approaches, ought not to take one by surprise. It should be part of the full expectancy of life. Without an ever-present sense of death life is insipid.
If you want to concentrate deeply on some problem, and especially some piece of writing or paper-work, you should acquire a cat . . .
To me education is a leading out of what is already there in the pupil's soul.
It is well, when in difficulties, to say never a word, neither black nor white. Speech is silver but silence is golden.
It is impossible to persuade a man who does not disagree, but smiles.
One's prime is elusive. You little girls, when you grow up, must be on the alert to recognize your prime at whatever time of your life it may occur. You must then live it to the full.
Contradictions in human character are one of its most consistent notes.
Being in love is something like poetry. Certainly, you can analyze and expound its various senses and intentions, but there is always something left over, mysteriously hovering between music and meaning.
The sacrifice of pleasures is of course itself a pleasure.
Jealousy ... is an affliction of the spirit which, unlike some sins of the flesh, gives no one any pleasure.
Frankness is usually a euphemism for rudeness.
For those who like that sort of thing," said Miss Brodie in her best Edinburgh voice, "That is the sort of thing they like.
It is impossible to repent of love. The sin of love does not exist.
I have a great desire to make people smile - not laugh. Laughter is too aggressive. People bare their teeth.
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