The public is a hibernating bear, hard to awaken and fond of honey.
Reason enables us to get around in the world of ideas, but cannot prescribe our thoughts.
Art chooses its constraints.
The tranquility of my room partakes too much of Forest Lawn.
Neat trick: to be roused to ambition and reconciled to one's mediocrity at the same time.
Home again, I can groan, scratch, and talk to myself.