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Melancholy and remorse forms the deep leaden keel which enables us to sail into the wind of reality.

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
Deep
Keel
Wind
Remorse
Reality
Enables
Form
Sail
Melancholy
Sadness
Forms
Misery
Leaden

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The worst vice of the solitary is the worship of his food.
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There cannot be a personal God without a pessimistic religion. As soon as there is a personal God he is a disappointing God.
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A woman's desire for revenge outlasts all her other emotions.
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I review novels to make money, because it is easier for a sluggard to write an article a fortnight than a book a year, because the writer is soothed by the opiate of action, the crank by posing as a good journalist, and having an air hole. I dislike it. I do it and I am always resolving to give it up.
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What grape to keep its place in the sun, taught our ancestors to make wine?
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The friendships which last are those wherein each friend respects the other's dignity to the point of not really wanting anything from him.
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When even despair ceases to serve any creative purpose, then surely we are justified in suicide.
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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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In a perfect union the man and woman are like a strung bow. Who is to say whether the string bends the bow, or the bow tightens the string?
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The artist secretes nostalgia around life.
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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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Longevity is the revenge of talent upon genius.
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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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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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It is after creation, in the elation of success, or the gloom of failure, that love becomes essential.
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Boys do not grow up gradually. They move forward in spurts like the hands of clocks in railway stations.
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Whom the gods wish to destroy they first call promising.
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Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils.
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The secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore.
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Today the function of the artist is to bring imagination to science and science to imagination, where they meet, in the myth.
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