One day I shall burst my bud of calm and blossom into hysteria.

If we could wake each morning with no memory of living before we went to sleep, we might arrive at a faultless day.

In tragedy every moment is eternity; in comedy, eternity is a moment.

How can we be scrupulous In a life which, from birth onwards, is so determined To wring us dry of any serenity at all?

An artist's sensitivity to criticism is, at least in part, an effort to keep unimpaired the zest, or confidence, or arrogance, which he needs to make creation possible; or an instinct to climb through his problems in his own way as he should, and must.

Where in this small-talking world can I find A longitude with no platitude?

Between our birth and death we may touch understanding, As a moth brushes a window with its wing