Sex is the root of which intuition is the foliage and beauty is the flower.

The dead don't die. They look on and help.

Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.

The words themselves are clean, so are the things to which they apply. But the mind drags in a filthy association, calls up some repulsive emotion. Well, then, cleanse the mind, that is the real job. It is the mind which is the Augean stables, not language.

When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder that such trivial people should muse and thunder in such lovely language.

For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive.

One doesn't know, till one is a bit at odds with the world, how much one's friends who believe in one rather generously, mean to one.