Sport And Death Are The Two Great

Memory Is To Love What The Saucer Is To The Cup.

Only In A House Where One Has Learnt To Be Lonely Does One Have This Solicitude For Things. One's Relation To Them, The Daily Seeing Or Touching, Begins To Become Love, And To Lay One Open To Pain.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

My Writing, I Am Prepared To Think, May Be A Substitute For Something I Have Been Born Without - A So-called Normal Relation To Society. My Books Are My Relation To Society.

Sacrificers ... Are Not The Ones To Pity. The Ones To Pity Are Those That They Sacrifice. Oh, The Sacrificers, They Get It Both Ways. A Person Knows Themselves That They're Able To Do Without.