You cannot be both fashionable and first-rate

All my life, as down an abyss without a bottom. I have been pouring van loads of information into that vacancy of oblivion I call my mind.

This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.

Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.

Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.

It is through the cracks in our brains that ecstasy creeps in.

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