Grown-up people seem to be busy by clockwork... They run their unswerving course from object to object, directed by some mysterious inner… — 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
What is a novel? I say: an invented story. At the same time a story which, though invented has the power to… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting’s sake -- much as we relive,… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
When I read a story, I relive the moment from which it sprang. A scene burned itself into me, a building magnetized… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
“Grown-up people seem to be busy by clockwork: even when someone is not ill, when there has been no telegram, they run… — Elizabeth Bowen Copy Share Image
Wariness had driven away poetry; from hesitating to feel came the moment when you no longer could. — 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)
