[W]e are almost always in one place with our minds somewhere quite other.

If you hunch your shoulders too long against a storm your shoulders will grow bowed.

Higher than the beasts, lower than the angels, stuck in our idiot Eden.

He added that a Frenchman in the train had given him a great sandwich that so stank of garlic that he had been inclined to throw it at the fellow's head.

What the artist wishes to do — as far as you are concerned — is to take you out of yourself. As far as he is concerned, he wishes to express himself.

Mind, I am not preaching anything contrary to accepted morality. I am not advocating free love in this or any other case. Society must go on, I suppose, and society can only exist if the normal, if the virtuous, and the slightly deceitful flourish, and if the passionate, the headstrong, and the too-truthful are condemned to suicide and madness.

I couldn't regard myself as personally repulsive. No man can, or, if he ever comes to do so, that is the end of him.