The lusts and greeds of the body scandalize the Soul; but it has to come to heel.

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.

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.

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

The notion of making money by popular work, and then retiring to do good work, is the most familiar of all the devil's traps for artists.

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.

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