History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living.

The artist's work constitutes the only satisfactory relationship he can have with his fellow men since he seeks his real friends among the dead and the unborn.

Everything really desirable has come about because of, or in spite of, wine!

You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.

'We live' writes Pursewarden somewhere 'lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time — not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation oа reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.

These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their own kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean.

They flower spontaneously out of the demands of our natures - and the best of them lead us not only outward in space, but inward as well.