For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more.

There is something very morbid about modern sympathy with pain.

As a wicked man I am a complete failure. Why, there are lots of people who say I have never really done anything wrong in the whole course of my life. Of course they only say it behind my back.

She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is the secret of their charm.

It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.

It takes great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it.

It is only the modern that ever becomes old-fashioned.