...there must be something she wanted; and that therefore she was no lady.

[A writer] should try not to be too far, personally, below the level of his work.

I can't see or feel the conflict between love and religion. To me, they're the same thing.

Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that we live, if we do.

Every love has a poetic relevance of its own; each love brings to light only what to it is relevant. Outside lies the junk-yard of what does not matter.

One's sentiments -- call them that -- one's fidelities are so instinctive that one hardly knows they exist: only when they are betrayed or, worse still, when one betrays them does one realize their power.

She walked about with the rather fated expression you see in photographs of girls who have subsequently been murdered, but nothing had so far happened to her.