Except for poverty, incompatibility, opposition of parents, absence of love on one side and of desire to marry on both, nothing stands in the way of our happy union.

Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm.

Poets arguing about modern poetry: jackals snarling over a dried-up well.

Our memories are card indexes consulted and then returned in disorder by authorities whom we do not control.

Most people do not believe in anything very much and our greatest poetry is given to us by those who do.

In America every woman has her set of girl-friends; some are cousins, the rest are gained at school. These form a permanent committee who sit on each other's affairs, who come out together, marry and divorce together, and who end as those groups of bustling, heartless well-informed club-women who govern society. Against them the Couple of Ehepaar is helpless and Man in their eyes but a biological interlude.

A great writer created a world of his own and his readers are proud to live in it. A lesser writer may entice them in for a moment, but soon he will watch them filing out.