Quotes from Elizabeth Bowen

A smell of sandalwood boxes, a kind of glaze on the air from all the chintzes numbed his earthy vitality, he became all ribs and uniform.

Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.

The furniture would have missed you? Furniture's knowing all right. Not much gets past the things in a room, I daresay, and chairs and tables don't go to the grave so soon. Every time I take the soft cloth to that stuff in the drawingroom, I could say, 'Well, you know a bit more'.

She was in that flagging mood when to go on living seems only to load more unmeaning moments on to your memory.

Darling, I don't want you; I've got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don't want the whole of anyone…What you want is the whole of me — isn't it, isn't it? — and the whole of me isn't there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don't exist.

She posed as being more indolent than she felt, for fear of finding herself less able than she could wish.

And because no one answered or cared and a conversation went on without her she felt profoundly lonely, suspecting once more for herself a particular doom of exclusion. Something of the trees in their intimacy of shadow was shared by the husband and wife and their host in the tree-shadowed room. She thought of love with its gift of importance. "I must break in on all this," she thought as she looked around the room.

There were readers who could expect no more from life, and just dared to look in books to see how much they had missed.

You must show him your monkey: I am sure he will like that.

He feels spikes everywhere and rushes to impale himself.

What you want is the whole of me—isn't it, isn't it? —and the whole of me isn't there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don't exist.

You and I are enough to break anyone's heart—how can we not break our own?

It is a wary business, walking about a strange house you know you are to know well. Only cats and dogs with their more expressive bodies enact the tension we share with them at such times. The you inside gathers up defensively; something is stealing upon you every moment; you will never be the same again.

What do you want me to say?" "I wish you would say something. Our life goes by without any comment.

Their hands, swinging, touched lightly now and then; their nearness was as natural as the June day.

First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context. This isolation, young love and hero worship accomplish without remorse; they hardly know tenderness.

We desert those who desert us; we cannot afford to suffer; we must live how we can

A living dog's better than a dead lion.

What I have always found is, anything one keeps hidden should now and then be hidden somewhere else.

You know, even grown-up people cannot do what they want most" "Then why grow up?

As for Thomas, the longer he lived, the less he cared for the world.

There are still places I cannot walk past, though we only walked here those two days. When I walk I look for places we did not go.

Darling, I don't want you; I've got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don't want the whole of anyone. I haven't wanted to hurt you; I haven't wanted to touch you in any way. When I try and show you the truth I fill you with such despair. Life is so much more impossible than you think.

Makes of men date, like makes of cars...