There are, broadly speaking, two types of drinkers. There is the man whom we all know, stupid, unimaginative, whose brain is bitten numbly by numb maggots; who walks generously with wide-spread, tentative legs, falls frequently in the gutter, and who sees, in the extremity of his ecstasy, blue mice and pink elephants.... The other type of drinker has imagination, vision. Even when most pleasantly jingled he walks straight and naturally, never staggers nor falls, and knows just where he is and what he is doing. It is not his body but his brain that is drunken.

But, – and there it is, – we want to live and move, though we have no reason to, because it happens that it is the nature of life to live and move, to want to live and move. If it were not for this, life would be dead. It is because of this life that is in you that you dream of your immortality.

Socialism, when the last word is said, is merely a new economic and political system whereby more men can get food to eat.

It is so much easier to live placidly and complacently. Of course, to live placidly and complacently is not to live at all.

And at the instant he knew, he ceased to know.

Not all the monsters have fangs.

I write for no other purpose than to add to the beauty that now belongs to me.