The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say.

Genius is the ability to put into effect what is on your mind.

What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?

His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed —that voice was a deathless song.

Well, you never knew exactly how much space you occupied in people's lives.

but they were frightened at his survivant will, once a will to live, now become a will to die.

So he tasted the deep pain that is reserved only for the strong, just as he had tasted for a little while the deep happiness.