There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall.

It is the fear of middle-age in the young, of old-age in the middle-aged, which is the prime cause of infidelity, that infallible rejuvenator.

When even despair ceases to serve any creative purpose, then surely we are justified in suicide.

The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication.

Purity engenders Wisdom, Passion avarice, and Ignorance folly, infatuation and darkness.

In the sex war, thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male, vindictiveness of the female.

Idleness is only a coarse name for my infinite capacity for living in the present.