My God, what a clumsy olla putrida James Joyce is! Nothing but old fags and cabbage stumps of quotations from the Bible and the rest, stewed in the juice of deliberate, journalistic dirty-mindedness—what old and hard-worked staleness, masquerading as the all-new!

I'm not sure if a mental relation with a woman doesn't make it impossible to love her. To know the mind of a woman is to end in hating her. Love means the pre-cognitive flow...it is the honest state before the apple.

Life is a travelling to the edge of knowledge, then a leap taken.

I never knew how soothing trees are-many trees and patches of open sunlight, and tree presences; it is almost like having another being.

Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.

As we all know, too much of any divine thing is destruction

People always make war when they say they love peace.