Those who prepared for all the emergencies of life beforehand may equip themselves at the expense of joy.

But after all, what have we to do with taverns? Real menace belongs to the drawing-room.

Pity wraps the student of the past in an ambrosial cloud, and washes his limbs with eternal youth.

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

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

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

But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.