Love can bear anything better than ridicule.

Fearful as reality is, it is less fearful than evasions of reality. Look steadfastly into the slit, pinpointed malignant eyes of reality as an old-hand trainer dominates his wild beasts.

There is nothing harder for an Artist than to retain his Artistic integrity in the tomb of success. A tomb, nevertheless, which nearly every Artist: whether he admits it or not; naturally wants to get into.

Jealousy is the lifelong noose hanging about the neck of love.

When the desire is on for one particular person, nobody else will do.

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.

[On journalists:] They are as disruptive a menace to the public body: as grating turds in the intestines are to the private body.