Where your life leads you, you must go

The only link between Literature and the Drama left to us in England at the present moment is the bill of the play.

Artists, like the Greek gods, are only revealed to one another.

The final mystery is oneself.

How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.

There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

Now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.