The crime of loving is forgetting.

A comfortable old age is the reward of a well-spent youth. Instead of its bringing sad and melancholy prospects of decay, it would give us hopes of eternal youth in a better world.

It is always the same: women bedeck themselves with jewels and furs, and men with wit and quotations.

I prefer old age to the alternative.

Inspiration comes unawares, from unaccountable sources that have nothing to do with planning or intelligence. Let it cool ever so slightly, and you are left, pen or brush in hand, with no inspiration at all. Gifted people need not, therefore, make a song and dance about being or supposing themselves superior. They simply happened to be born with that fortunate, subconscious equipment of theirs, and the mystery exists independently of intelligence or ambition.

Many a man has fallen in love with a girl in a light so dim he would not have chosen a suit by it.

The older one gets the more one comes to resemble oneself.