I sometimes think that the price of liberty is not so much eternal vigilance as eternal dirt.

Prolonged, indiscriminate reviewing of books is a quite exceptionally thankless, irritating and exhausting job. It not only involves praising trash but constantly inventing reactions towards books about which one has no spontaneous feeling whatever.

It was a cozy home for us in Wallington, but my dark thoughts haunted it.

No one can look back on his schooldays and say with truth that they were altogether unhappy.