We talked for hours. He talked and I listened. It was like wind and sunlight. It blew all the cobwebs away.

You despise the real bourgeois classes for all their snobbishness and their snobbish voices and ways. You do, don't you? Yet all you put in their place is a horrid little refusal to have nasty thoughts or do nasty things or be nasty in any way. Do you know that every great thing in the story of art and every beautiful thing in life is actually what you call nasty or has been caused by feelings that you would call nasty? By passion, by love, by hatred, by truth. Do you know that?

Then she did something as strange, as shocking, as if she had thrown off her clothes.She smiled.

It's despair at the lack of feeling, of love, of reason in the world. It's despair that anyone can even contemplate the idea of dropping a bomb or ordering that it should be dropped. It's despair that so few of us care. It's despair that there's so much brutality and callousness in the world. It's despair that perfectly normal young men can be made vicious and evil because they've won a lot of money. And then do what you've done to me.

Just those three words, said and meant. I love you.They were quite hopeless. He said it as he might have said, I have cancer.His fairy story.

What you love is your own love. It's not love, it's selfishness. It's not me you think of, but what you feel about me.

Seeing her made me feel like I was catching a rarity, going up to it very careful, heart-in-mouth as they say.

In our age it is not sex that raises its ugly head, but love.

The dead live." "How do they live?" "By love.