Enid Bagnold Quotes

A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again.

Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it's the answer to everything. ... It's the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it's a cactus.

I don't like people," said Velvet. "... I only like horses.

Before you fall asleep everyday, say something positive to yourself.

One can lie, but truth is more interesting.

Why do birds sing in the morning? It's the triumphant shout: 'We got through another night!'

You will be old-fashioned one day. It's more shocking than getting old.

As for death, one gets used to it, even if it is only other people is death you get used to.

It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) -to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a wild fox so ready to bite, the antagonism that sits like a twin beside love, and contrast it with affection, so deeply unrepeatable, of two people who have lived a life together (and of whom one must die) it's the affection I find richer. It's that I would have again. Not all those doubtful rainbow colors.

I shall continue to explore-the astonishment of living.

I am not a born writer, but I was born a writer.

In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with that ancient child in the other who may erupt again. We are not ridiculous to ourselves. We are ageless. That is the luxury of the wedding ring.

After forty years of marriage we still stood with broken swords in our hands.

The dangerous thing about hate is that it seems so reasonable.

An only child is never twelve.

From birth to death we are alone.

Let this serve as an axiom to every lover: A woman who refuses lunch refuses everything.

Things come suitable to the time.

When a man goes through six years training to be a doctor he will never be the same. He knows too much.

The theatre is a gross art, built in sweeps and over-emphasis. Compromise is its second name.

Pity is exhaustible. What a terrible discovery!

It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) --to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart.

Isn't the fear of pain next brother to pain itself?

One's palate is reborn every morning!

There may be wonder in money, but, dear God, there is money in wonder.