He walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.

We can’t turn life into a pleasure. But we can choose such pleasures as are worthy of us and our immortal souls.

If the barricades went up in our streets and the poor became masters, I think the priests would escape, I fear the gentlemen would; but I believe the gutters would simply be running with the blood of philanthropists.

There is only one thing that it requires real courage to say, and that is a truism.

There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect.

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.

Coincidence is a spiritual pun.