All new money is made through the shifting of social classes and the dispossession of old classes.

I hate Bernard Shaw because he says that life is compromise.

A woman is a hunter without a forest.

It is a rule of creative ability that it does nothing of any value, while it is possessed by this afflatus of vanity.

I don't know what imagination is, if not an unpruned, tangled kind of memory.

She was able to feel active creation going on around her in the rocks and hills, where the mystery of lust took place; and in herself, where all was yet only the night of senses and wild dreams, the work of passion going on.

The waste, the insane freaks of these money men, the cynicism and egotism of their life... I'll show that they are not brilliant, not romantic, not delightful, not intelligent.