Has anyone...any distinct notion of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? ... There is an ecstasy such that the immese strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one's steps either rush or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes... Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity.

The most common sort of lie is the one uttered to one's self.

A man of genius is unbearable, unless he possesses at least two things besides: gratitude and purity.

Our sense of the tragic waxes and wanes with our sensuality.

Childhood and youth are ends in themselves, not stages.

What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.

Just look at the faces of the great Christians! They are the faces of great haters.