The modern world is filled with men who hold dogmas so strongly that they do not even know they are dogmas.

There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast,' that a thing must be loved before it is lovable.

A small artist is content with art; a great artist is content with nothing except everything.

A thing may be too sad to be believed or too wicked to be believed or too good to be believed; but it cannot be too absurd to be believed in this planet of frogs and elephants, of crocodiles and cuttle-fish.

When learned men begin to use their reason, then I generally discover that they haven't got any.

A building is akin to dogma; it is insolent, like dogma. Whether or no it is permanent, it claims permanence, like a dogma. People ask why we have no typical architecture of the modern world, like impressionism in painting. Surely it is obviously because we have not enough dogmas; we cannot bear to see anything in the sky that is solid and enduring, anything in the sky that does not change like the clouds of the sky.

The men of the clique live together because they have the same kind of soul, and their narrowness is a narrowness of spiritual coherence and contentment, like that which exists in hell . . .