The better you know someone, the less well you often see them (and the less well they can therefore be transferred into fiction). They may be so close as to be out of focus, and there is no operating novelist to dispel the blur.

When I work, I'm just translating the world around me in what seems to be straightforward terms. For my readers, this is sometimes a vision that's not familiar. But I'm not trying to manipulate reality. This is just what I see and hear.

I like familiarity. In me it does not bring contempt-only more familiarity.

You do not notice changes in what is before you.

The sweetness of life lies in dispensing with formalities.

Familiar things are a comfort to us all.

Familiarity breeds.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

Familiarity is the thing-the sense of belonging. It grants exemption from all evil, all shabbiness.

Familiarity breeds contempt-and children.

Familiar acts are beautiful through love.

Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.

Though the familiar use of things about us take off our wonder, yet it cures not our ignorance.

Great men lose somewhat of their greatness by being near us; ordinary men gain much.

Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at?

Though familiarity may not breed contempt, it takes off the edge of admiration.

The hues of the opal, the light of the diamond, are not to be seen if the eye is too near.

When we know exactly all a man's views and how he comes to speak and act so and so, we lose any respect for him, though we may love and admire him.

Familiarity breeds contentment.

That song is best esteemed with which our ears are most acquainted.