We Are The Hero Of Our Own

Combativeness Was, I Suppose, The Dominant Trait In My Grandmother's Nature. An Aggressive Churchgoer, She Was Quite Without Christian Feeling; The Mercy Of The Lord Jesus Had Never Entered Her Heart. Her Piety Was An Act Of War Against Protestant Ascendancy. ...the Teachings Of The Church Did Not Interest Her, Except As They Were A Rebuke To Others.

Making Love, We Are All More Alike Than We Are When We Are Talking Or Acting.

What's The Use Of Falling In Love If You Both Remain Inertly As You Were?

A Society Person Who Is Enthusiastic About Modern Painting Or Truman Capote Is Already Half A Traitor To His Class. It Is Middle-class People Who, Quite Mistakenly, Imagine That A Lively Pursuit Of The Latest In Reading And Painting Will Advance Their Status In The World.

I Suppose Everyone Continues To Be Interested In The Quest For The Self, But What You Feel When You're Older, I Think, Is That ... You Really Must Make The Self. It Is Absolutely Useless To Look For It, You Won't Find It, But It's Possible In Some Sense To Make It. I Don't Mean In The Sense Of Making A Mask, A Yeatsian Mask. But You Finally Begin In Some Sense To Make And Choose The Self You Want.