One minute. You know nothing about him. He probably has his own joys and interests- wife, children, snug little home. That's where we practical fellows'- he smiled-'are more tolerant than you intellectuals. We live and let live, and assume that things are jogging on fairly well elsewhere, and that the ordinary plain man may be trusted to look after his own affairs.

The people I respect most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal. Both assumptions are false: both of them must be accepted as true if we are to go on eating and working and loving, and are to keep open a few breathing holes for the human spirit.

Don't be mysterious; there isn't the time.

Works of art, in my opinion, are the only objects in the material universe to possess internal order, and that is why, though I don't believe that only art matters, I do believe in Art for Art's sake.

It is my fate and perhaps my temperament to sign agreements with fools.

For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate something curiously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone.

The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.