'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

where the dead walked and the living were made of cardboard.

Allow me to say that I would long since have committed suicide had desisting made me a professor of Latin.

No good poetry is ever written in a manner twenty years old, for to write in such a manner shows conclusively that the writer thinks from books, convention and cliché, not from real life.

What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it.

The real meditation is ... the meditation on one's identity. Ah, voilà une chose!! You try it. You try finding out why you're you and not somebody else. And who in the blazes are you anyhow? Ah, voilà une chose!

Every great change is simple.