We are American at puberty. We die French.

... To know and love one other human being is the root of all wisdom.

The tourist debauches the great monuments of antiquity, a comic figure, always inapt in his comments, incongruous in his appearance; ...avarice and deceit attack him at every step; the shops that he patronizes are full of forgeries... But we need feel no scruple or twinge of uncertainty; 'we' are travelers and cosmopolitans; the tourist is the other fellow.

O God, make me good, but not yet.

The sky over London was glorious, ochre and madder, as though a dozen tropic suns were simultaneously setting round the horizon . . . Everywhere the shells sparkled like Christmas baubles.

I have no technical psychological interest; it is drama, speech,and events that interest me.

I think there's almost nothing I can't excuse except perhaps worshiping graven images. That seems to be idiotic.