It isn't possible to love and to part.

Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land.

We are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable, and only to be approached by the statistician or the poet.

There is an aristocracy of the sensitive. They represent the true human tradition of permanent victory over cruelty and chaos.

To make us feel small in the right way is a function of art; men can only make us feel small in the wrong way.

She had been so wicked that in all her life she had done only one good deed-given an onion to a beggar. So she went to hell. As she lay in torment she saw the onion, lowered down from heaven by an angel. She caught hold of it. He began to pull her up. The other damned saw what was happening and caught hold of it too. She was indignant and cried, "Let go-it's my onion," and as soon as she said, "my onion," the stalk broke and she fell back into the flames.

I'm a holy man minus the holiness.