The heart was made to be broken.

He would stab his best friend for the sake of writing an epigraph on his tombstone.

The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting impressions.

One's dreams must be big enough so as not to lose sight of them.

She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is the secret of their charm.

A man who does not think for himself does not think at all. It is grossly selfish to require of one's neighbour that he should think in the same way, and hold the same opinions. Why should he? If he can think, he will probably think differently. If he cannot think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind from him.

I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.