For how can a man stand, unless he have something sure under his feet. Can a man tread the unstable water all his life, and call that standing? Better give in and drown at once.

Sleep is a hint of lovely oblivion.

It always seemed to me that men wore their beards, like they wear their neckties, for show.

Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, the belly-wriggling invertebrates, the miserable soddingrotters, the flaming sods, the sniveling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse-less lot that make up England today. They've got white of egg in their veins, and their spunk is that watery it's a marvel they can breed.

Love is the hastening gravitation of spirit towards spirit, and body towards body, in the joy of creation.

I hate the actor and audience business. An author should be in among the crowd, kicking their shins or cheering them on to some mischief or merriment.

One's action ought to come out of an achieved stillness: not to be a mere rushing on.