And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

It is not wise to find symbols in everything that one sees. It makes life too full of terrors.

I never forget a face, but in your case I'll make an exception.

Flowers are as common in the country as people are in London.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

To disagree with three-fourths of the British public is one of the first requisites of sanity.

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