The silence of a shut park does not sound like the country silence; it is tense and confined. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Every love has a poetic relevance of its own; each love brings to light only what to it is relevant. Outside lies… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
somehow at parties at which one stays standing up one seems to require to be more concentratedly intelligent than one does at… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
One's sentiments -- call them that -- one's fidelities are so instinctive that one hardly knows they exist: only when they are… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. One's relation to them,… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
When one is a child, the disposition of objects, tables and chairs and doors, seems part of the natural order: a house-move… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
The novelist's--any writer's--object is to whittle down his meaning to the exactest and finest possible point. What, of course, isfatal is when… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
The Irish landowner, partly from laziness but also from an indifferent delicacy, does not interfere in the lives of the people round.… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
The writer, unlike his non-writing adult friend, has no predisposed outlook; he seldom observes deliberately. He sees what he didnot intend to… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
A novel which survives, which withstands and outlives time, does do something more than merely survive. It does not stand still. It… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
The novel does not simply recount experience, it adds to experience. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Mr. [Aldous] Huxley has been the alarming young man for a long time, a sort of perpetual clever nephew who can be… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Temperamentally, the writer exists on happenings, on contacts, conflicts, action and reaction, speed, pressure, tension. Were he acontemplative purely, he would not write. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
“Are you really an orphan? Yes, I am, said Portia a shade shortly. Are you? No, not at present, but I suppose it's a… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
It is not our exalted feelings, it is our sentiments that build the necessary home. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Every love has a poetic relevance of its own; each love brings to light only what to it is relevant. Outside lies the junk-yard… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
without fiction, either life would be insufficient or the winds from the north would blow too cold. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
One's sentiments -- call them that -- one's fidelities are so instinctive that one hardly knows they exist: only when they are betrayed or,… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. One's relation to them, the daily… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
To walk into history is to be free at once, to be at large among people. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
The wish to lead out one's lover must be a tribal feeling; the wish to be seen as loved is part of one's self-respect. — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
“First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences,… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
![“Mr. [Aldous] Huxley has been the alarming young man for a long time, a sort of perpetual clever nephew who can be relied on to flutter the lunch party. Whatever will he say next? How does he think of those things? He has been deplored once or twice, but feeling is in his favor: he is steadily…” quote by Elizabeth Bowen](https://sms4smile.com/quotes/img-quotes/203/elizabeth-bowen-1197_clever_mr-aldous-huxley-has-been-the-alarming-y_2740970.jpg)
