The French are a race of individuals. There is no type.
... France is the genius among nations.
New York has always prided itself on its bad manners. That is the real source of our strength.
I want books written out of a brain and heart and soul crowded and vital with Life, spelled with a big L. I want poetry bursting with passion. I don't care a hang for the 'verbal felicities.' They'll do for the fringe, but I want the garment to warm me first.
We never care to know new people unless we are sure we shall like them.
Fame compensates for a column of wants.