anybody who drinks seriously is poor: so poor, poor, extra poor, me.

In America they make too much fuss of poets; in London they make too little.

[On journalists:] ... however lyingly libellous they may be: nobody can seriously hurt the reputation of a Great person. If he is hurt: he is not Great. They can but scratch at his skin with their mice nails.

If happiness comes at all: which is by no means prearranged; it comes by the way, while you are seeking for something else. Something outside yourself, beyond yourself: in a brief absorption of self-forgetfulness.

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

The wretched Artist himself is alternatively the lowest worm that ever crawled when no fire is in him; or the loftiest God that ever sand when the fire is going.

Sex divorced from love is the thief of personal dignity.