One reason writers write is out of revenge.

To desire to be what one can be is purpose in life. There are no exterior forces. There are only interior forces. Who squanders talent praises death.

Paradise is only for those who have already been there.

Life is that which - pressingly, persistently, unfailingly, imperially - interrupts.

Travelers are fantasists, conjurers, seers - and what they finally discover is that every round object everywhere is a crystal ball: stone, teapot, the marvelous globe of the human eye.

I'm not afraid of facts, I welcome facts but a congeries of facts is not equivalent to an idea. This is the essential fallacy of the so-called "scientific" mind. People who mistake facts for ideas are incomplete thinkers; they are gossips.

It isn't the instrument that influences High-Minded or Low-Minded; it's the quality of Mind itself.