You know I have loved him always. But we are very poor. Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden.
Everybody in American seems in a rush to catch a train.
Art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes.
Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much.
She lives the poetry she cannot write.
[on his deathbed in a Paris hotel room] Either this wallpaper goes, or I do.