What I like in a good author is not what he says but what he whispers.

People have a right to be shocked; the mention of unmentionable things is a kind of participation in them.

Self-respecting people do not care to peep at their reflections in unexpected mirrors, or to see themselves as others see them.

We grow with years more fragile in body, but morally stutter, and can throw off the chill of a bad conscience almost at once.

The vitality of a new movement in Art must be gauged by the fury it arouses.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.

Only those who get into scrapes with their eyes open can find the safe way out.