Art Like Life Is An Open Secret.

It Is Not Love That Is Blind, But Jealousy.

The Realisation Of One's Own Death Is The Point At Which One Becomes Adult.

Love Is Like Trench Warfare - You Cannot See The Enemy, But You Know He Is There And That It Is Wiser To Keep Your Head Down.

Frost In January Minus 20 For A Week. Dead Birds Frozen On The Branch—they Fall With The First Thaw Like Ripe Fruit—death-ripened. We Shall All End Like Them—just A Stain In The Snow.

The National Characteristics... The Restless Metaphysical Curiosity, The Tenderness Of Good Living And The Passionate Individualism. This Is The Invisible Constant In A Place With Which The Ordinary Tourist Can Get In Touch Just By Sitting Quite Quietly Over A Glass Of Wine In A Paris Bistro.