O God... make me a child again, even before I die; give me back the simple faith, the clear vision of the child that holds its father's hand.

The Past: Our cradle, not our prison; there is danger as well as appeal in its glamour. The past is for inspiration, not imitation, for continuation, not repetition.

...the wonderful poems interpreting with equal magic the romance of strange lands and times, or the modern soul, naked and unashamed, as if clothed in its own complexity; the humorous-tragic questionings of the universe; the delicious travel-pictures and fantasies; the lucid criticisms of art, and politics, and philosophy, informed with malicious wisdom, shimmering with poetry and wit.

What clinical lectures I will give in heaven, demonstrating the ignorance of doctors!

As soon as you tolerate something, it becomes bearable, and before long it will become common.

New York is the great stone desert.

[T]he German censorship forbade or mutilated my every book, which was like sticking pins into my soul.