Green leaves on a dead tree is our epitaph — green leaves, dear reader, on a dead tree. – Cyril Connolly
Classical and romantic: private language of a family quarrel, a dead dispute over the distribution of emphasis between man and nature. – Cyril Connolly
Hate is the consequence of fear we fear something before we hate it a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise. – Cyril Connolly
The dread of lonliness is greater than the fear of bondage, so we get married. – Cyril Connolly
Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them rest in obscurity and peace! Let my memory be left in oblivion, my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. – Robert Emmet