And the day star arise in your hearts.
To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.
Hanging of his cat on Monday
For killing of a mouse on Sunday.
The fear of solitude is at the bottom the fear of the double, the figure which appears one day and always heralds death
There were books and pictures on display, brisk commentaries on what these men had said, and barks about their pertinence to today.
For the day may come, some thousand years hence, when even the works of Ben Jonson will be read little, but the bright eyes of Ben Jonson will flash out here and there in a breathtaking felicity of phrase from the green Eden of God's own book that may never die.
There is, for everybody, a first time. A psychedelic moment, as they say or used to say nowadays, an instant of recognition of verbally inexpressible spiritual realities, a meaning for the term beauty.
Some day, all marriages had to become sexless, but then they usually had more than fifteen years to look back on.
Life's all telling lies nowadays. All cheating and being a stranger to the truth.
Life is a wretched grey Saturday but it has to be lived through
To follow your chivalric calling When the Alps and the Pyrenees are falling, To file your nails when the doomsday trumpets crash: That's panache.
Every dogma has its day
A character in Evelyn Waugh's Put Out More Flags said that the difference between prewar and postwar life was that, prewar, if one thing went wrong the day was ruined; postwar, if one thing went right the day would be made. America is a prewar country, psychologically unprepared for one thing to go wrong.
The trouble is that novelists nowadays do not care sufficiently or believe enough. Masterpieces spring out of conviction
There are two good reasons for writing much, if one can. The first is the need to earn; the second is the fear of an untimely death, which will prevent the half-formed books in one's mind from being realized. We know not the day nor the hour. I may be killed in a train accident when taking this present book to my publisher in London. You can see whether or not this happened by reading the blurb on the dust jacket
Useless to hope to hold off the unavoidable happening with that frail barricade of week, day or hour which melts as it is made, for time himself will bring you in his high-powered car, rushing to it, whether you will or not
I washed off the day and middleage
Hell is a fact and no mere Sunday scare
Today is a nameless day. It is so cold and dull it deserves no name
Yesterday's hunger cannot be stilled with tomorrow's food
There is no such thing as the death of anything. There is no making new, there is only renewal. The earth turns and there is no new day, only a renewal of the old. In tomorrow's bread there will be a piece of today's dough
You must not think of this again, not with your brain of daylight
You must not think of this again, not with your brain of the daylight
I saw children die at 3 days, and they were lucky, they had not grown to a day of hope
To achieve death might be a day's hard labour