My great mistake, the fault for which I can’t forgive myself, is that one day I ceased my obstinate pursuit of my own individuality.

Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.

It is always worth while asking a question, though it is not always worth while answering one.

The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

The only horrible thing in the world is ennui.

The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid