My thoughts went round and round and it occurred to me that if I ever wrote a novel it would be of… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
Once outside the magic circle the writers became their lonely selves, pondering on poems, observing their fellow men ruthlessly, putting people they… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
Novel writing is a kind of private pleasure, even if nothing comes of it in worldly terms. — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“She had been feeling that things were pretty desperate if one found oneself talking about and almost quoting Matthew Arnold to comparative strangers, though… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“He is a brilliant man, said Miss Doggett. She helped him a good deal in his work, I think. Mrs. Bonner says that she… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“One wouldn't believe there could be so many people, and one must love them all.” — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“-Hoy no pareces tú misma- dijo él en tono censurador-. Espero que no haya sido el Nuits Saint Georges. -Ya sabes que no estoy… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
I stretched out my hand towards the little bookshelf where I kept cookery and devotional books, the most comfortable bedside reading. — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“Jane felt that he would write from the depths of a wretchedness that would not necessarily be insincere because its outward signs were so… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“You lose your sense of perspective when you get too close, and the charm goes.” — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“I hope you don’t mind tea in mugs,’ she said, coming in with a tray. ‘I told you I was a slut.” — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“Let me hasten to add that I am not at all like Jane Eyre, who must have given hope to so many plain women… — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
“However romantically ill John might look, it seemed that he had nothing worse than an unromantic cold.” — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
The burden of keeping three people in toilet paper seemed to me rather a heavy one. — Barbara Pym Copy Share Image
