A writer without interest or sympathy for the foibles of his fellow man is not conceivable as a writer.

A man's real life is that accorded to him in the thoughts of other men by reason of respect or natural love.

The artist in his calling of interpreter creates because he must. He is so much of a voice that, for him, silence is like death

We live as we dream - alone. While the dream disappears, the life continues painfully.

Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you, smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, "Come and find out".

The question is not how to get cured, but how to live.

The scrupulous and the just, the noble, humane, and devoted natures; the unselfish and the intelligent may begin a movement - but it passes away from them. They are not the leaders of a revolution. They are its victims.