I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat.

Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for? If he really liked birds he would have done better to preach to the cats.

The delight we find in art amounts to recognition of a saving grace, to an acknowledgment that the problem of life has a solution implicit in its own nature, though not yet formulated by the intellect.

But there are other things than dissipation that thicken the features. Tears, for example.

A good cause has to be careful of the company it keeps.

The memory, experiencing and re-experiencing, has such power over one's mere personal life, that one has merely lived.

Here lies the real terror in the international war of ideologies; that a city knows not whom it entertains.