The theatre is a gross art, built in sweeps and over-emphasis. Compromise is its second name. — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
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… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
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… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
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.… — Enid Bagnold Copy Share Image
