What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?

Subtle impressions for which words are quite too coarse a medium.

Impatient people, according to Bacon, are like the bees, and kill themselves in stinging others.

I've never any pity for conceited people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them.

Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths?

I not only want to be loved, I want to be told that I'm loved.

... the true seeing is within; and painting stares at you with an insistent imperfection.