Dogs are a habit, I think.

Silences can be as different as sounds.

All your youth you want to have your greatness taken for granted; when you find it taken for granted, you are unnerved.

Ghosts, we hope, may be always with us - that is, never too far out of the reach of fancy. On the whole, it would seem they adapt themselves well, perhaps better than we do, to changing world conditions - they enlarge their domain, shift their hold on our nerves, and, dispossessed of one habitat, set up house in another. The universal battiness of our century looks like providing them with a propitious climate.

To walk into history is to be free at once, to be at large among people.

... artists were intended to be an ornament to society. As a society in themselves they are unthinkable.

Have not all poetic truths been already stated? The essence of a poetic truth is that no statement of it can be final.