Another Little Drink Wouldn't Do Us Any

Virginia Woolf's Writing Is No More Than Glamorous Knitting. I Believe She Must Have A Pattern Somewhere.

I Am An Unpopular Electric Eel Set In A Pond Of Goldfish.

... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures, Excepting Of The Skin.

As For The Usefulness Of Poetry, Its Uses Are Many. It Is The Deification Of Reality.

My Temper Is Not Spoilt. I Am Absolutely Non-homicidal. Nor Do I Ever Attack Unless I Have Been Attacked First, And Then Heaven Have Mercy Upon The Attacker, Because I Don't! I Just Sharpen My Wits On A Wooden Head As A Cat Sharpens Its Claws On The Wood Legs Of A Table.