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

Gamblers and lovers really play to lose.

Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.

A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.

He thought and suffered a good deal but he lacked the resolution to dare--the first requisite of a practitioner.

Art—the meaning of the pattern of our common actions in reality. The cloth-of-gold that hides behind the sackcloth of reality, forced out by the pain of human memory.

Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.