One doesn't come to Italy for niceness," was the retort; "one comes for life. Buon giorno! Buon giorno!

It comes to this then: there always have been people like me and always will be, and generally they have been persecuted.

Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love.

There are moments when the inner life actually 'pays,' when years of self-scrutiny, conducted for no ulterior motive, are suddenly of practical use.

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

Man can learn everything if he will but try.

The fact is we can only love what we know personally. And we cannot know much. In public affairs, in the rebuilding of civilization, something less dramatic and emotional is needed, namely tolerance.