To most women art is a form of scandal.

She was overstrained with grief and loneliness: almost any shoulder would have done as well.

I can’t tell you just how wonderful she is. I don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.

Don't be so anxious about it,' she laughed. 'I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do; I never got the trick of it.' She looked down at him, shy and fatigued. 'So here we are. I told you years ago that I had the makings of Cinderella.' He took her hand; she drew it back instinctively and then replaced it in his. 'Beg your pardon. Not even used to being touched. But I'm not afraid of you, if you stay quiet and don't move suddenly.

Progress was a labyrinth ... people plunging blindly in and then rushing wildly back, shouting that they had found it ... the invisible king-the élan vital-the principle of evolution ... writing a book, starting a war, founding a school.

I hope you live a life you're proud of...

An artist is someone who can hold two opposing viewpoints and still remain fully functional.