Dying is almost the least spiritual of our acts, more strictly carnal even than the act of love. There are Death Agonies that are like the strainings of the Costive at stool.

And so, resisting the temptation to wallow in artistic remorse, I prefer to leave both well and ill alone and to think about something else

There is something curiously boring about somebody else's happiness.

It is natural to believe in God when you're alone-- quite alone, in the night, thinking about death.

If it were not for the intellectual snobs who pay - in solid cash - the arts would perish with their starving practitioners. Let us thank heaven for hypocrisy.

Religion is always a patron of the arts, but its taste is by no means impeccable.

Happiness is never grand.