Everybody in American seems in a rush to catch a train.

I suppose society is wonderfully delightful. To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it is simply a tragedy.

"I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?" "Yes, darling, with a little help from others."

Crying is the refuge of plain women but the ruin of pretty ones.

What the artist is always looking for is the mode of existence in which soul and body are one and indivisible: in which the outward is expressive of the inward: in which form reveals.

Just because a man has died for it, does not make it true.

Each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved.