We have to hate our immediate predecessors, to get free from their authority.

And all the time she felt the reflection of his hopelessness in her. She couldn't quite, quite love in hoplessness. And he, being hopeless, couldn't ever love at all.

The mind is "ashamed" of the blood. And the blood is destroyed by the mind, actually. Hence palefaces.

Only in a novel are all things given full play.

The upshot was, my paintings must burn that English artists might finally learn.

Life is beautiful, as long as it consumes you. When it is rushing through you, destroying you, life is gorgeous, glorious. It's when you burn a slow fire and save fuel, that life's not worth having.

Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.