As for death one gets used to it, even if it's only other people's death you get used to. — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) -to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share
Let this serve as an axiom to every lover: A woman who refuses lunch refuses everything. — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
“She changed her position, contemplated a row od apple shrubs that she had put in last autumn at the bottom of the terrace, and slowly filled up again with comfortable thoughts. Things wee coming to a head. Her inner life, her restless inner life, was still and lay asleep. She was at liberty now to think of material things; positions… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share
Why do birds sing in the morning? It's the triumphant shout: 'We got through another night!' — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with that ancient child… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
“He's old now. He goes about gathering up the women who loved him and getting a kick out of their consternation and vague distress.… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
“They went together to the pond. The frogs, frozen by the movement, sat still. Fourteen golden eyes like nuggets gleamed unwinking from the margin. Some squatted on dead reeds and immersed branches. Tranced by the half-apprehended movement above them they relied for safety upon immobility. Some hung by one slim hand like children to a raft. All had been stricken… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share
