He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we cannot find expression.

Each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it. The only pity was one had to pay so often for a single fault. One had to pay over and over again, indeed. In her dealings with man, Destiny never closed her accounts.

There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.

Her capacity for family affection is extraordinary. When her third husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief.

The intellect is not a serious thing, and never has been. It is an instrument on which one plays, that is all.

In one dancing saloon I saw the only rational method of art criticism I have ever come across. Over the piano was printed a notice: 'Please do not shoot the pianist. He is doing his best.'

Some things are too important to be taken seriously.