I'd wipe the machines off the face of the earth again, and end the industrial epoch absolutely, like a black mistake.

If we sip the wine, we find dreams coming upon us out of the imminent night

The grim frost is at hand, when apples will fall thick, almost thunderous, on the hardened earth.

It's autumn and everybody feels like a disembodied spirit then.

The old ideals are dead as nails--nothing there. It seems to me there remains only this perfect union with a woman--sort of ultimate marriage--and there isn't anything else.

The refined punishments of the spiritual mode are usually much more indecent and dangerous than a good smack.

I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies - thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us.