He helped me in prison greatly: sympathy is a sort of religion to him: that's why we can meet without murder and separate without suicide....
"Talking literature with him is very like playing Rugby football....

I never did play football, you know; but talking literature with Frank must be very like playing Rugby where you end by being kicked violently through your own goal," and he laughed delightedly.
I had listened without thinking as I often listened to his talk for the mere music of the utterance; now, at a break in the monologue, I went into the next room, feeling that to listen consciously would be unworthy.

On the whole his view of me was not unkindly: he disliked to hear any opinion that differed from his own and it never came into his head that Oxford was no nearer the meridian of truth than Lawrence, Kansas, and certainly at least as far from Heaven.
Some weeks later I left La Napoule and went on a visit to some friends.
He wrote complaining that without me the place was dull.

I wired him and went over to Nice to meet him and we lunched together at the Cafe de la Regence.

He was terribly downcast, and yet rebellious.