If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge Driven by invisible blows, The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.

Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.

Art- speech is the only truth. An artist is usually a damned liar but his art, if it be art, will tell you the truth of his day and that is all that matters. Away with eternal truth. The truth lives from day to day, and the marvelous Plato of yesterday is chiefly bosh today.

When I wish I was rich, then I know I am ill.

The novel is the highest example of subtle interrelatedness that man has discovered.

Not that the Red Indian will ever possess the broad lands of America. At least I presume not. But his ghost will.

It is no good casting out devils. They belong to us, we must accept them and be at peace with them.