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Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils.

Cyril Connolly

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Cyril Connolly
Age: 71 †
Born: 1903
Born: September 10
Died: 1974
Died: November 26
Critic
Literary Critic
Novelist
Writer
Coventry
England
UK
Cyril Vernon Connolly
Sun
Bring
Daffodils
Lying
Daffodil
Happiness
November
Autumn
Fallen
Grass
Leaves

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We create the world in which we live if that world becomes unfit for human life, it is because we tire of our responsibility.
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The dread of loneliness is greater than the fear of bondage, so we get married.
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Life is a maze in which we take the wrong turning before we have learned to walk.
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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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That sinister Stonehenge of economic man, Rockefeller Center.
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Poets arguing about modern poetry: jackals snarling over a dried-up well.
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There is no pain equal to that which two lovers can inflict on one another. This should be made clear to all who contemplate such a union. The avoidance of this pain is the beginning of wisdom, for it is strong enough to contaminate the rest of our lives.
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There is immunity in reading, immunity in formal society, in office routine, in the company of old friends and in the giving of officious help to strangers, but there is no sanctuary in one bed from the memory of another. The past with its anguish will break through every defense-line of custom and habit we must sleep and therefore we must dream.
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We cannot be happy until we can love ourselves without egotism and our friends without tyranny.
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English Law: where there are two alternatives: one intelligent, one stupid one attractive, one vulgar one noble, one ape-like one serious and sincere, one undignified and false one far-sighted, one short EVERYBODY will INVARIABLY choose the latter.
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Our memories are card indexes consulted and then returned in disorder by authorities whom we do not control.
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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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The goal of every culture is to decay through over-civilization the factors of decadence, -- luxury, skepticism, weariness and superstition, -- are constant. The civilization of one epoch becomes the manure of the next.
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Beneath a mask of selfish tranquility nothing exists except bitterness and boredom. I am one of those whom suffering has made empty and frivolous: each night in my dreams I pull the scab off a wound each day, vacuous and habit-ridden, I help it re-form.
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Youth is a period of missed opportunities.
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Slums may well be breeding grounds of crime, but middle class suburbs are incubators of apathy and delirium.
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Hate is the consequence of fear we fear something before we hate a child who fears noises becomes the man who hates them.
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The only way for writers to meet is to share a quick peek over a common lamp-post.
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As repressed sadists are supposed to become policemen or butchers so those with an irrational fear of life become publishers.
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