A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave.

Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.

He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood.

The only thing that can console one for being poor is extravagance.

We are the zanies of sorrow. We are clowns whose hearts are broken.

Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.