But I like the feel of men on things, while they're alive. There's a feel of men about trucks, because they've been handled with men's hands, all of them.

If you cut a thing up, of course it will smell. Hence, nothing raises such an infernal stink at last, as human psychology.

If we sip the wine, we find dreams coming upon us out of the imminent night

Don't be on the side of the angels, it's too lowering.

Naught is possessed, neither gold, nor land nor love, nor life, nor peace, nor even sorrow nor death, nor yet salvation. Say of nothing: It is mine. Say only: It is with me.

Truth does not lie beyond humanity, but is one of the products of the human mind and feeling.

Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing for long years. And for this reason, some old things are lovely warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.