The end (goal) of art is to figure the hidden meaning of things and not their appearance; for in this profound truth lies their true reality, which does not appear in their external outlines.

The artist appeals to that part of our being...which is a gift and not an acquisition - and, therefore, more permanently enduring.

There is a kind way of assisting our fellow-creatures which is enough to break their hearts while it saves their outer envelope.

Necessity, they say, is mother of invention, but fear, too, is not barren of ingenious suggestions.

We are snared into doing things for which we get called names, and things for which we get hanged, and yet the spirit may well survive - survive the condemnations, survive the halter, by Jove! And there are things - they look small enough sometimes too - by which some of us are totally and completely undone.

We owe much to the fruitful meditation of our sages, but a sane view of life is, after all, elaborated mainly in the kitchen.

Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violence--but more generally takes the form of apathy