there is no gaiety as gay as the gaiety of grief.

I don't trust sentimentality in men; it goes with tyranny; you can't have one without the other.

Virtue in a man doesn't make you want to grab him.

I had got to the dawn of the beautiful not caring, but fully aware, stage, which degenerates so imperceptibly into the doing something unpermissible stage.

Between threading a needle and raving insanity is the smallest eye in creation.

Anybody who thinks there is any vague chance of adult exchange with a child is up the spout; and would be much less disappointed if they recognized the chasm unbridgeably dividing them.

My bitterness is not an abstract substance, it is as solid as a Christmas cake; I can cut it in slices and hand it round and there is still plenty left, for tomorrow.