What we call Life is a condition of the soul. And the soul must improve in happiness and wisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these faintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.

Much of the possibility of being cheerful comes from the faculty of throwing oneself beyond oneself.

The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.

I work with patience, which is almost power.

With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.

At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction.

Never say No when the world says Aye.