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

I would like [the working man] to give me back books and newspapers and theories. And I would like to give him back, in return, his old insouciance, and rich, original spontaneity and fullness of life.

I can't bear art that you can walk round and admire. A book should be either a bandit or a rebel or a man in the crowd.

There are three cures for ennui: sleep, drink and travel.

Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.

What one does in one's art, that is the breath of one's being. What one does in one's life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.

The grim frost is at hand, when apples will fall thick, almost thunderous, on the hardened earth.