I don't care anything about reasons, but I know what I like.
We must for dear life make our own counter-realities.
His kiss was like white lightning, a flash that spread, and spread again, and stayed.
Criticism talks a good deal of nonsense, but even its nonsense is a useful force. It keeps the question of art before the world, insists upon its importance.
I hold any writer sufficiently justified who is himself in love with his theme.
If one is strong, one loves the more strongly.