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

For {she} had adopted the standard of the young: what there was in the moment was everything. And moments followed one another without necessarily belonging to one another.

Men! The only animal in the world to fear.

What sex is, we don't know, but it must be some sort of fire. For it always communicates a sense of warmth, of glow. And when this glow becomes a pure shine, then we feel the sense of beauty. We all have the fire of sex slumbering or burning inside us. If we live to be ninety, it is still there. Or, if it dies, we become one of those ghastly living corpses which are unfortunately becoming more numerous in the world.

Europe is, perhaps, the least worn-out of the continents, because it is the most lived in. A place that is lived in lives.

If only we could live two lives: the first in which to make one's mistakes, and the second in which to profit by them.

They were evidently small men, all wind and quibbles, flinging out their chuffy grain to us with far less interest than a farm-wife feels as she scatters corn to her fowls.