One can be bored until boredom becomes a mystical experience.

The great art of writing is the art of making people real to themselves with words.

What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the dawn!

The old know what they want; the young are sad and bewildered.

It's an odd thing about this universe that, though we all disagree with each other, we are all of us always in the right.

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.

So, I never lose a sense of the whimsical and perilous charm of daily life, with its meetings and words and accidents.