What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.

Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.

the cynic is a coward. He foresees all barrenness so that barrenness can never surprise him.

Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate. I hate murderously.

We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.

Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite.