I am writing a play which I probably will not finish until the end of November. I am writing it with considerable pleasure, though I sin frightfully against the conventions of the stage. It is a comedy with three female parts, six male, four acts, a landscape (view of the lake), lots of talk on literature, little action and tons of love.

There is nothing more awful, insulting, and depressing than banality.

My mistress has come home; at last I've seen her. Now I'm ready to die.

It always seems to the brothers and the father that their brother or son didn't marry the right person.

If you cry 'forward', you must without fail make plain in what direction to go.

The University brings out all abilities, including incapability.

If you want to work on your art, work on your life.