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The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above.
Cyril Connolly
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Cyril Connolly
Age: 71 †
Born: 1903
Born: September 10
Died: 1974
Died: November 26
Critic
Literary Critic
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Coventry
England
UK
Cyril Vernon Connolly
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More quotes by Cyril Connolly
Literature is the art of writing something that will be read twice journalism what will be grasped at once.
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The worst vice of the solitary is the worship of his food.
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A woman's desire for revenge outlasts all her other emotions.
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No one over thirty-five is worth meeting who has not something to teach us, something more than we could learn for ourselves, from a book.
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The artist is a member of the leisured classes who cannot pay for his leisure.
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When young we are faithful to individuals, when older we grow loyal to situations and to types.
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The artist secretes nostalgia around life.
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Miserable Orpheus who, turning to lose his Eurydice, beholds her for the first time as well as the last.
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No one can achieve Serenity until the glare of passion is past the meridian.
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Doing is overrated, and success undesirable, but the bitterness of failure even more so.
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A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious retreat of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.
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No city should be too large for a man to walk out of in a morning.
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Imagination is nostalgia for the past, the absent it is the liquid solution in which art develops the snapshot of reality.
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The civilization of one epoch becomes the manure of the next.
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Like the bee its sting, the promiscuous leave behind them in each encounter something of themselves by which they are made to suffer.
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We fear something before we hate.
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Our memories are card indexes consulted and then returned in disorder by authorities whom we do not control.
Cyril Connolly
Marriage is the permanent conversation between two people who talk over everything and everyone until death breaks the record.
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Carelessness is not fatal to journalism, nor are cliches, for the eye rests lightly on them. But what is intended to be read once can seldom be read more than once a journalist has to accept the fact that his work, by its very todayness, is excluded from any share in tomorrow.
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The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.
Cyril Connolly
