... he felt himself to be one of them, who can live neither in the world nor out of it. They are a kind of sick people, whose desire for God makes them unsatisfactory citizens of an ordinary life, but whose strength or temperament fails them to surrender the world completely; and present-day society, with its hurried pace and its mechanical and technical structure, offers no home to these unhappy souls.

What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Art is brief. (Not in a temporal sense.) [...] Words are for concealment. Art is concealment.

In a happy marriage there is a continuous dense magnetic sense of communication.

We shall be better prepared for the future if we see how terrible, how doomed the present is.

Being good is just a matter of temperament in the end.

True love gallops, it flies, it is the swiftest of all modes of thought, swifter even than hate and fear.