One can be bored until boredom becomes a mystical experience.

When they come downstairs from their Ivory Towers, idealists are very apt to walk straight into the gutter.

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.

He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave

An improper mind is a perpetual feast.

I find a fascination, like the fascination for the moth of a star, in those who hold aloof and disdain me.

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.