“Of course it’s all right for librarians to smell of drink.”

Life is cruel and we do terrible things to each other.

The small things of life were often so much bigger than the great things . . . the trivial pleasure like cooking, one’s home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things seen and overheard.

It was odd how one found oneself making trivial conversation on important occasions. Perhaps it was because one could not say what was really in one’s mind.

I was so astonished that I could think of nothing to say, but wondered irrelevantly if I was to be caught with a teapot in my hand on every dramatic occasion.

There are no sick people in North Oxford. They are either dead or alive. It’s sometimes difficult to tell the difference, that’s all.

I stretched out my hand towards the little bookshelf where I kept cookery and devotional books, the most comfortable bedside reading.

My thoughts went round and round and it occurred to me that if I ever wrote a novel it would be of the ‘stream of consciousness’ type and deal with an hour in the life of a woman at the sink.

Dulcie always found a public library a little upsetting, for one saw so many odd people there.

How absurd and delicious it is to be in love with somebody younger than yourself. Everybody should try it.

She had always been an unashamed reader of novels.

Once outside the magic circle the writers became their lonely selves, pondering on poems, observing their fellow men ruthlessly, putting people they knew into novels; no wonder they were without friends.

The burden of keeping three people in toilet paper seemed to me rather a heavy one.

There are some things too dreadful to be revealed, and it is even more dreadful how, in spite of our better instincts,we long to know about them.

You know Mildred would never do anything wrong or foolish. I reflected a little sadly that this was only too true and hoped I did not appear too much that kind of person to others. Virtue is an excellent thing and we should all strive after it, but it can sometimes be a little depressing.

I imagine the proverb about too many cooks spoiling the broth can be applied to writing as well as anything else. The poetical or literary broth is better cooked by one person.

Oh, this coming back to an empty house,’ Rupert thought, when he had seen her safely up to her door. People – though perhaps it was only women – seemed to make so much of it. As if life itself were not as empty as the house one was coming back to.

When I lose, I drink, and when I win I celebrate.

I was very healthy from a young age. I was always known as the healthy kid in my group of friends. My mom had us drink barley-grass powder, and I’ve taken vitamins and fish oil and multivitamins since I was a kid.

So before we end And then begin We’ll drink a toast to how it’s been A few more hours to be complete A few more nights on satin sheets A few more times that I can say, I’ve loved these days.

She’s the girl that’s playing softball – not worrying about breaking a nail. She’s out there breaking nails and diving at second. And then, she’s going to out-drink you at the bar.

I was a weekend drinker…I’d start on Saturday, end on Friday…thought I was controlling it…but I don’t drink any more.

If you want to drink, have a drink… if you want to drive, then drive… there’s nothing worse than having a smash sober.

I don’t smoke, I don’t drink much, I don’t eat red meat. I stay out of the sun.

I usually have a drink before a carpet because I find them really nerve-racking. Usually a tequila. An upper!