Hate does not present many choices; if hate is your solution, you are fairly certain to hate all phemonena with equal joy and intensity, without troubling to drag into prominence any one feature from the loathsome whole.

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.

Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.

The art of one period cannot be approached through the attitudes (emotional or intellectual) of another.

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

... politics are nothing but sand and gravel: it is art and life that feed us until we die. Everything else is ambition, hysteria or hatred.