Why! Why! Why is the middle-class so stodgy - so utterly without a sense of humor?

Oh, how quickly things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever wasn't a bit too long.

I feel I must live alone, alone, alone - with artists only to touch the door. Every artist cuts off his ear and nails it on the outside of the door for the others to shout into.

To long for everything: sorrow; to accept everything: joy.

Winter is a terrible time for thin people - terrible! Why should it hound them down, fasten on them, worry them so? Why not, for a change, take a nip, take a snap at the fat ones who wouldn't notice? But no! It is sleek, warm, cat-like summer that makes the fat one's life a misery. Winter is all for bones.

My love for you tonight is so deep and tender that it seems to be outside myself as well.

The truth is that every true admirer of the novels cherishes the happy thought that he alone - reading between the lines - has bcome the secret friend of their author.