Elizabeth Bowen, CBE (; 7 June 1899 – 22 February 1973) was an Anglo-Irish novelist and short story writer, notable for her fiction about life in wartime London.
Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Art is one thing that can go on mattering once it has stopped hurting.
I have no riches but my thoughts. Yet these are wealth enough for me.
It's not that we need new ideas, but we need to stop having old ideas.