It's not what people do to you, but what they mean, that hurts.

The strong are so stupid.

Belfastas uncivilised as ever--savage black mothers in houses of dark red brick, friendly manufacturers too drunk to entertain you when you arrive. It amuses me till I get tired.

What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?

Truth is a flower in whose neighbourhood others must wither.

I would rather be a coward than brave because people hurt you when you are brave.

I only wish the poets would say this too: love is of the body; not the body, but of the the body. Ah! the misery that would be saved if we confessed that! Ah! for a little directness to liberate the soul!