There is the strange power we have of changing facts by the force of the imagination.
A perfect treat must include a trip to a second-hand bookshop.
The way to write well is to live intensely.
Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.
The world is crammed with delightful things
We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.
Love had a thousand shapes.
A whole lifetime was too short to bring out, the full flavour; to extract every ounce of pleasure, every shade of meaning.
For pleasure has no relish unless we share it.
I like people to be unhappy because I like them to have souls.
These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism.
We insist, it seems, on living.
It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
One cannot bring children into a world like this. One cannot perpetuate suffering, or increase the breed of these lustful animals, who have no lasting emotions, but only whims and vanities, eddying them now this way, now that.
The compensation of growing old ... was simply this; that the passion remains as strong as ever, but one has gained -- at last! -- the power which adds the supreme flavour to existence -- the power of taking hold of experience, of turning it round, slowly, in the light.
I really don't advise a woman who wants to have things her own way to get married
Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.
One can only believe entirely, perhaps, in what one cannot see.
Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
To make ideas effective, we must be able to fire them off. We must put them into action.
I must try to set aside half an hour in some part of my day, and consecrate it to diary writing. Give it a name and a place, and then perhaps, such is the human mind, I shall come to think it a duty, and disregard other duties for it.
It would be a thousand pities if women wrote like men, or lived like men, or looked like men, for if two sexes are quite inadequate, considering the vastness and variety of the world, how should we manage with one only? Ought not education to bring out and fortify the differences rather than the similarities?
It's my choice, to choose how to live my life.
So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then.
How lovely goodness is in those who, stepping lightly, go smiling through the world.
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