Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do if there is no forest? He grows a forest to hide it in.

All literary style, especially national style, is made up of such coincidences, which are a spiritual sort of puns. That is why style is untranslatable.

The men who really believe in themselves are all in lunatic asylums.

It seems a pity that psychology has destroyed all our knowledge of human nature.

All that we call spirit and art and ecstacy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forgot.

The average woman is at the head of something with which she can do as she likes; the average man has to obey orders and do nothing else.

I am more than a devil; I am a man. I can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do— I can die.