For Shakespeare, in the matter of religion, the choice lay between Christianity and nothing. He chose nothing.

Miracles are propitious accidents, the natural causes of which are too complicated to be readily understood.

Imagination is potentially infinite. Though actually we are limited to the types of experience for which we possess organs, those organs are somewhat plastic. Opportunity will change their scope and even their center.

Emotion is primarily about nothing and much of it remains about nothing to the end.

Poetry is an attenuation, a rehandling, an echo of crude experience; it is itself a theoretic vision of things at arm's length.

Knowledge of what is possible is the beginning of happiness.

The human race, in its intellectual life, is organized like the bees: the masculine soul is a worker, sexually atrophied, and essentially dedicated to impersonal and universal arts; the feminine is queen, infinite fertile, omnipresent in its brooding industry, but passive and abounding in intuitions without method and passions without justice.