Like the bee its sting, the promiscuous leave behind them in each encounter something of themselves by which they are made to suffer.

The more I see of life the more I perceive that only through solitary communion with nature can one gain an idea of its richness and meaning.

If our elaborate and dominating bodies are given us to be denied at every turn, if our nature is always wrong and wicked, how ineffectual we are; like fishes not meant to swim.

Whom the gods wish to destroy they first call promising.

Hemingway is great in that alone of living writers he has saturated his work with the memory of physical pleasure, with sunshine and salt water, with food, wine and making love and the remorse which is the shadow of that sun.

Only by avoiding the beginning of things can we escape their end.

We create the world in which we live; if that world becomes unfit for human life, it is because we tire of our responsibility.