Lies About Love We are all liars, because The truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, Whereas letters are fixed, and we live by the letter of truth. The love I feel for my friend, this year, is different from the love I felt last year. If it were not so, it would be a lie. Yet we reiterate love! love! love! as if it were a coin with fixed value instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

And if tonight my soul may find her peace in sleep, and sink in good oblivion, and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

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

We have lost the art of living, and in the most important science of all, the science of daily life, the science of behavior, we are complete ignoramuses. We have psychology instead.

It's bad taste to be wise all the time, like being at a perpetual funeral.

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.

For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.