At least we’re companions in misfortune.
When I read a book, I put in all the imagination I can, so that it is almost like writing a book as well as reading it – or rather, it is like living it.
Did you think of anything when Miss Marcy said Scoatney Hall was being re-opened? I thought of the beginning of Pride and Prejudice – where Mrs. Bennet says ‘Netherfield Park is let a last.’ And then Mr. Bennet goes over to call on the rich new owner.
There’s nothing more, except that I usually sit down until the flames die down and try to think myself back into the past.
Mr. Dearly wasn’t exactly handsome but he had the kind of face you don’t get tired of.
And though I cannot honestly say I would ever turn my back on any luxury that I could come by, I do feel there is something a bit wrong in it. Perhaps that makes it all the more enjoyable.
It was wonderful, of course – ham with mustard is a meal of glory.
I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring.
I believe it is customary to get one’s washing over first in baths and bask afterwards; personally, I bask first. I have discovered that the first few minutes are the best and not to be wasted – my brain always seethes with ideas and life suddenly looks much better than did.
The family – that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.
Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation – every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.
Everything in the least connected with him has value for me; if someone even mentions his name it is like a little present to me-and I long to mention it myself.
Certain unique books seem to be without forerunners or successors as far as their authors are concerned. Even though they may profoundly influence the work of other writers, for their creator they’re complete, not leading anywhere.
It came to me that Hyde Park has never belonged to London – that it has always been, in spirit, a stretch of countryside; and that it links the Londons of all periods together most magically – by remaining forever unchanged at the heart of a ever-changing town.
Like many other much-loved humans, they believed that they owned their dogs, instead of realizing that their dogs owned them.
I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.
People’s clothes ought to be buried with them.
I only want to write. And there’s no college for that except life.
I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.
But some characters in books are really real – Jane Austen’s are; and I know those five Bennets at the opening of Pride and Prejudice, simply waiting to raven the young men at Netherfield Park, are not giving one thought to the real facts of marriage.