The past was spat upon and the future was ready to be spat upon too, since this would quickly enough turn itself into the past.
God made his mind up, right from the beginning, that some were damned, some saved, and strictly what you did with life, saintly by choice or sinning, mattered to God not one benighted jot. You prosper? That probably means you're winning. You're losing, lost - the sudden voices shout it. You're lost, and nothing can be done about it.
All that is written may be subject to the anatomising knife of the sincere enquirer
Shakespeare may have outshone him (Marlowe) but he dÃd not contain or supersede him. That inimitable voice sings on.
I mean, what the hell can you do with love except cleanse yourself of it by debasing the image to a lust object?
Music deals in sound without clear referents. Music is multiguous,since it is capable of many interpretations. Music, one might say, is Hopkinsian.
The English language is not yet, except in the nonsense of "Jabberwocky", ready for the fusing of two or more words into a new complex entity.
The trouble with even sincere and sensible statements is that they can deal only in either tautology or lies
It is not easy to write nonsense, since everything relates to everything else
The only sexual sin is waste of seed
This musing and this fear's work of your maiden years. Why shut longer your ears?
... and also, there was (in America)less of a smell of people being dead, somehow. I can't say exactly what I mean, but when you're in any English town you can't help feeling that millions of people are dead and gone there, all through the ages, and their sort of ghosts are floating about and making the place seem a bit depressing and heavy somehow
The biggest sin, the sin that swallows up all others, is indifference to life
Humanity is unregenerable and hates the language of conformity, since conformity has a whiff of the inhuman about it
Create your characters, give them a time and place to exist in, and leave the plot to them; the imposing of action on them is very difficult, since action must spring out of the temparament with which you have endowed them
Keep away from physicians. It is all probing and guessing and pretending with them. They leave it to Nature to cure in her own time, but they take the credit. As well as very fat fees.
To write is to become disinterested. There is a certain renunciation in art.
We have all come to feel a powerful and desperate guilt since the revelations of Belson and the blasting of Hiroshima: there are few of us now, Christian or not, who would reject the doctrine of original sin
Though we regard a novelist as a writer whose tade is the production of novels - in the plural - we must still take seriously those authors who have been limited, either by circumstances beyond their control, of which death is the least compromising, or by deliberate self-denial, to the production of a single novel
One looks for Eden in history, best left unvisited, for the primal sin is always a present sin
Words disintegrate; war is words
We who groan from drink or, showering, sing, believe the first of January can bring regeneration magically about both in our psyches and the world without
The futility of anger, the sin of vengeance: how can these profit the dead?
A man so prone to sin had best go back to his family, to dwell harmless in its bosom
I can hardly move, sick not in my body but only in my soul, centre of my sinful earth