I always feel as if I stood naked for the fire of Almighty God to go through me--and it's rather an awful feeling. One has to be so terribly religious to be an artist.

Whether I get on in the world is a question; but I certainly don't get on very well with the world.

In every living thing there is the desire for love.

At the back of my life's horizon, where the dreamings of past lives crowd.

Every profound new movement makes a great swing also backwards to some older, half-forgotten way of consciousness.

One never can know the whys and the wherefores of one's passional changes.

It seems to me that the chief thing about a woman - who is much of a woman - is that in the long run she is not to be had... She is not to be caught by any of the catch-words, love, beauty, honor, duty, worth, work, salvation - none of them - not in the long run. In the long run she only says Am I satisfied, or is there some beastly dissatisfaction gnawing and gnawing inside me. And if there is some dissatisfaction, it is physical, at least as much as psychic, sex as much as soul.