All bad art is the result of good intentions.

I see the moon like a clipped piece of silver. Like gilded bees the stars cluster round her.

The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.

Ah, on what little things does happiness depend.

...The two great turning-points of my life were when my father sent to Oxford, and when society sent me to prison.

But we never get back our youth… The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to.

To be good, according to the vulgar standard of goodness, is obviously quite easy. It merely requires a certain amount of sordid terror, a certain lack of imaginative thought, and a certain low passion for middle-class respectability.