What a tragedy it was that the only thing age could offer to youth was its own experience, and that the experiences of others were never profitable.

The stage on which we play our little dramas of life and love has for most of us but one setting.

Love sees clearly, and seeing, loves on. But infatuation is blind; when it gains sight, it dies.

That is the tragedy of growing old, Chris. You don't leave the world. It leaves you.

There is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt.

Every crucial experience can be regarded either as a setback, or the start of a wonderful new adventure, it depends on your perspective!

Some day some one will write a book about that frantic search of the creative worker for silence and freedom, not only from interruption but from the fear of interruption.