Fate weaves the darkness, which is perhaps why she weaves so badly.

The loveliest face in all the world will not please you if you see it suddenly eye to eye, at a distance of half an inch from your own.

When hospitality becomes an art it loses its very soul.

There is in the human race some dark spirit of recalcitrance, always pulling us in the direction contrary to that in which we are reasonably expected to go.

It distresses me, this failure to keep pace with the leaders of thought, as they pass into oblivion.

Not philosophy, after all, not humanity, just sheer joyous power of song, is the primal thing in poetry.

To destroy is still the strongest instinct of our nature.