He was meddling too much in my private life.
Tennessee Williams (1911-83) on why he had stopped visiting his psychoanalyst |
How unpleasant to meet Mr Eliot! With his features of clerical cut, And his brow so grim And his mouth so prim And his conversation, so nicely Restricted to What Precisely And If and Perhaps and But.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) on himself in Five Finger Exercises |
I became one of the stately homos of England.
Quentin Crisp, writer and actor, on himself |
I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be an authoress.
Jane Austen (1775-1817) on herself, to the Revd James Clarke |
If people only knew as much about painting as I do, they would never buy my pictures.
Sir Edwin Henry Landseer (1802-73) to W. P. Frith |
My handwriting looks as if a swarm of ants, escaping from an ink bottle, had walked over a sheet of paper without wiping their legs.
Revd Sydney Smith (1771-1845) |
Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
Dylan Thomas (1914-53) |
When I don't look like the tragic muse, I look like the smoky relic of the great Boston Fire.
Louisa May Alcott (1832-88) on herself |
You have but two topics, yourself and me and I'm sick of both.
Samuel Johnson (1709-84) on James Boswell (1740-95), British author and biographer |
