The final mystery is oneself.

Perhaps there may come into my art also, no less than into my life, a still deeper note, one of greater unity of passion, and directness of impulse. Not width but intensity is the true aim of modern art. We are no longer in art concerned with the type. It is with the exception that we have to do. I cannot put my sufferings into any form they took, I need hardly say. Art only begins where Imitation ends, but something must come into my work, of fuller memory of words perhaps, of richer cadences, of more curious effects, of simpler architectural order, of some aesthetic quality at any rate.

One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged.

In going to America one learns that poverty is not a necessary accompaniment to civilization.

London is full of women who trust their husbands. One can always recognize them. They look so thoroughly unhappy.

In modern life nothing produces such an effect as a good platitude. It makes the whole world kin.

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