A burnt child loves the fire.

It's either the wallpaper or me. One of us has to go. [These were his dying words.]

The only way to atone for being occasionally overdressed is to be massively overeducated.

Each of us has heaven and hell in him.

Each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved.

Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination. It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet of sin. It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen brood. In the common world of fact the wicked were not punished, nor the good rewarded. Success was given to the strong, failure thrust upon the weak. That was all.

We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible.