An echo of music, a face in the street, the wafer of the new moon, a wanton thought - only in the iridescence of things the vagabond soul is happy.

An echo of music, a face in the street, the wafer of the new moon, a wanton thought - only in the iridescence of things the vagabond soul is happy.

One can be bored until boredom becomes a mystical experience.

I like to walk down Bond Street, thinking of all the things I don't desire.

It is the dread of something happening, something unknown and dreadful, that makes us do anything to keep the flicker of talk from dying out.

I might give my life for my friend, but he had better not ask me to do up a parcel.

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