His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.

I miss the animal buoyancy of New York, the animal vitality. I did not mind that it had no meaning and no depth.

I am quite wiling to confide entirely in human being, except that at some moment or another human beings get preoccupied, moody, busy, inattentive, and there come an end to the interest, and this never happens in a journal!

It is in the movements of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately.

Sometimes I think of Paris not as a city but as a home.

In music I feel most deeply the passing of things.

If one's conscious life is too rigid, too regimented, then the surface may crack at times, and we are unprepared for the strange emotions or sensations we experience.