Eat and carouse with Bacchus, or munch dry bread with Jesus, but don't sit down without one of the gods.

The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination.

I am turned into a dream. I feel nothing, or I don't know what I feel. Yet it seems to me I am happy.

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch! Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of a flower down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark.

Hate's a growing thing like anything else. It's the inevitable outcome of forcing ideas onto life, of forcing one's deepest instincts; our deepest feelings we force according to certain ideas.

Any novel of importance has a purpose. If only the "purpose" be large enough, and not at outs with the passional inspiration.

Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul.