Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one center of pain.

For the canons of good society are, or should be, the same as the canons of art. Form is absolutely essential to it.

Life is a nightmare that prevents one from sleeping.

I may have said the same thing before... but my explanation, I am sure, will always be different.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm we had crossed each other's way: but we made no sign, we said no word, we had no word to say.

The gods bestowed on Max [Beerbohm] the gift of perpetual old age.