It is the duty of every patriot to hate his country creatively.

I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!

after all the work of the philosophers on his soul and the doctors on his body, what can we really say we know about a man? That he is, when all is said and done, just a passage for liquids and solids, a pipe of flesh.

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

Somewhere in the heart of experience there is an order and a coherence which we might purprise if we were attentive enough, loving enough, or patient enough.

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

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