At The Age Of Twelve

Two Things Are Terrible In Childhood: Helplessness (being In Other People's Power) And Apprehension - The Apprehension That Something Is Being Concealed From Us Because It Is Too Bad To Be Told.

One Can Suffer A Convulsion Of One's Entire Nature, And, Unless It Makes Some Noise, No One Notices. It's Not Just That We Are Incurious; We Completely Lack Any Sense Of Each Other's Existences.

Mr. [aldous] Huxley Has Been The Alarming Young Man For A Long Time, A Sort Of Perpetual Clever Nephew Who Can Be Relied On To Flutter The Lunch Party. Whatever Will He Say Next? How Does He Think Of Those Things? He Has Been Deplored Once Or Twice, But Feeling Is In His Favor: He Is Steadily Read. He Is At Once The Truly Clever Person And The Stupid Person's Idea Of The Clever Person; He Is Expected To Be Relentless, To Administer Intellectual Shocks.

Rudeness To Mrs. Dosely Was Like Dropping A Pat Of Butter On To A Hot Plate - It Slid And Melted Away.

She Walked About With The Rather Fated Expression You See In Photographs Of Girls Who Have Subsequently Been Murdered, But Nothing Had So Far Happened To Her.