Neurotics, who cause less distress to themselves and their neighbours than those in the other category, are at war with their own natures. Their right hands are in conflict with their left. Psychotics, and it is those who commit purposeless crimes and prefer death to life, are at war with their environment. Right and left hands strike against the womb that carries them.

Birds sat on the telegraph wires that spanned the river as the black notes sit on a staff of music.

Life ought to be a struggle of desire toward adventures whose nobility will fertilize the soul.

Just how difficult it is to write biography can be reckoned by anybody who sits down and considers just how many people know the real truth about his or her love affairs.

Mr. Arnold Bennett feels he has ranked himself for ever as a dry wine by what he mixed with himself of Maupassant; nevertheless he has put on the market some grocer's Sauterne in the form of several novels that are highly sentimental so far as their fundamental balance of values is concerned.

All disgrace smells alike. Differences in ruin are only matters of degree.

Sex, which ought to be an incident of life, is the obsession of the well-fed world.