No one of the characters in my novels has originated, so far as I know, in real life. If anything, the contrary… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Solitary and farouche people don't have relationships; they are quite unrelatable. If you and I were capable of being altogether house-trained and… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
On the subject of dress almost no one, for one or another reason, feels truly indifferent: if their own clothes do not… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Nothing, that is say no one, can be such an inexorable tour-conductor as one's own conscience or sense of duty, if one… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Nothing arrives on paper as it started, and so much arrives that never started at all. To write is always to rave… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Dress has never been at all a straightforward business: so much subterranean interest and complex feeling attaches to it. As a topic… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
I am fully intelligent only when I write. I have a certain amount of small-change intelligence, which I carry round with me… — 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
