Truth is what most contradicts itself.

Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.

The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.

Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.

Truth is a matter of direct apprehension-you can't climb a ladder of mental concepts to it.

Prohibitions create the desire they were intended to cure.

Poverty is a great cutter-off and riches a great shutter-off.