Oh build your ship of death. Oh build it! For you will need it. For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.

That's it! When you come to know men, that's how they are: too sensitive in the wrong place.

I cannot be a materialist - but Oh, how is it possible that a God who speaks to all hearts can let Belgravia go laughing to a vicious luxury, and Whitechapel cursing to a filthy debauchery - such suffering, such dreadful suffering - and shall the short years of Christ's mission atone for it all?

Imitate the magnificent trees that speak no word of their rapture, but only breathe largely the luminous breeze.

How beautiful maleness is, if it finds its right expression.

When the emotional soul receives a wounding shock, the soul seems to recover as the body recovers. But this is only in appearance. Slowly, slowly the wound to the soul begins to make itself felt, like a bruise, which only slowly deepens its terrible ache, till it fills all the psyche. And when we think we have recovered and forgotten, it is then that the terrible after-effects have to be encountered at their worst.

We have buried so much of the delicate magic of life.