Nature: a place where birds fly around uncooked

It is because Humanity has never known where it was going that it has been able to find its way.

In the old days men had the rack. Now they have the Press.

Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day.

Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs.

He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize

Art only begins where Imitation ends.