The artist's knowledge of his own creative nature is often unconscious; he pursues his mysterious way of life in a strange innocence.

Anythin' wrong leaves a kind of impression on the eye; brain trots along afterwards with the warnin'.

To complain that man measures God by his own experience is a waste of time; man measures everything by his own experience; he has no other yardstick.

He was so crooked, you could have used his spine for a safety-pin.

Of all devils let loose in the world there is no devil like devoted love.

Britain possesses no climate, only weather.

What is the use of acquiring one's heart's desire if one cannot handle and gloat over it, show it to one's friends, and gather an anthology of envy and admiration?