Poets do not go mad; but chess-players do. Mathematicians go mad, and cashiers; but creative artists very seldom. I am not, as will be seen, in any sense attacking logic: I only say that this danger does lie in logic, not in imagination.

A mystic is a man who separates heaven and earth even if he enjoys them both.

The man who kills a man kills a man. The man who kills himself kills all men. As far as he is concerned, he wipes out the world.

Artistic temperament is the disease that afflicts amateurs.

An enormous amount of modern ingenuity is expended on finding defences for the indefensible conduct of the powerful. As I have said above, these defences generally exhibit themselves most emphatically in the form of appeals to physical science. And of all the forms in which science, or pseudo-science, has come to the rescue of the rich and stupid, there is none so singular as the singular invention of the theory of races.

All architecture is great architecture after sunset.

With any recovery from morbidity there must go a certain healthy humiliation.