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.

All our lives we are putting pennies — our most golden pennies — into penny-in-the-slot machines that are almost always empty.

For souls in growth, great quarrels are great emancipations.

Only among people who think no evil can Evil monstrously flourish.

When elderly invalids meet with fellow-victims of their own ailments, then at last real conversation begins, and life is delicious.

If we shake hands with icy fingers, it is because we have burnt them so horribly before.

If you are losing your leisure, look out! You are losing your soul.