The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above.

Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm.

Classical and romantic: private language of a family quarrel, a dead dispute over the distribution of emphasis between man and nature.

When we have ceased to love the stench of the human animal, either in others or in ourselves, then are we condemned to misery, and clear thinking can begin.

The American language is in a state of flux based upon survival of the unfittest.

Longevity is the revenge of talent upon genius.

In a perfect union the man and woman are like a strung bow. Who is to say whether the string bends the bow, or the bow tightens the string?