What I find trying in a country which you do not understand and where you cannot speak, is that you can never be yourself.

Once divested of missionary virus, the cult of our gods gives no offence. It would be a peaceful age if this were recognized, and religion, Christian, communist or any other, were to rely on practice and not on conversion for her growth.

Love, like broken porcelain, should be wept over and buried, for nothing but a miracle will resuscitate it: but who in this world has not for some wild moments thought to recall the irrecoverable with words?

I dislike being an anvil for the hammering out of other people's virtues.

The world has become too full of many things, an over furnished room.

This is excellence - the following of anything for its own sake and with its own integrity.

The portion we see of human beings is very small: their formats and faces, voices and words.... beyond these, like an immense dark continent, lies all that has made them.