Not till the end of the war will there be any time for art or love or magic again. Perhaps never again. — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
I cannot remember a time when I was not enraptured or tortured by words. Always there have been words which, sometimes for their sound alone, sometimes for their sound and sense, I would not use. From a loathing of their… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
There are two kinds of reading, reading which is contemplation - even a kind of vision & reading for information. For the first only… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
“For some days before, as well as for some nights, Vincent had observed a shadow about the quays. First because it had tried to… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
If it is true that it is the simplicity of the Einsteinian formulae which constitutes their difficulty, that they are so obvious as to… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
Not till the end of the war will there be any time for art or love or magic again. Perhaps never again. — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
It is in the nature of any effort to leave something serviceable behind it. — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
“the things you hate are only your body being knocked about by phenomena” — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
I thought of my father's wisdom, as though it were buried in a box under a tree. As in the old song - a… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
“Like men of his kind, at cross-purposes with their purpose, there could be nothing fortuitous that happened to him.” — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
“She saw the skin pull under the driver's ears and knew that he was laughing.” — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
I am old enough to remember what it was like when the theories of Freud first escaped from the study and the clinic, and… — Mary Butts Copy Share Image
