It was unbearable, and he thought again, 'How unhappy I am!' and became happier.

The sadness of the incomplete, the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art.

Very notable was his distinction between coarseness and vulgarity, coarseness, revealing something; vulgarity, concealing something.

One is certain of nothing but the truth of one's own emotions.

It is the starved imagination, not the well nourished, that is afraid.

I do like Christmas on the whole.... In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill. But it is clumsier every year.

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