The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.

An audience proves its discipline by its capacity for stillness. Those who have never practiced continuous application to an exacting process cannot settle down to simple watching; they must chew gum, they must dig the peel off their oranges, they must shift from foot to foot, from buttock to buttock.

Getting a divorce is nearly always as cheerful and useful an occupation as breaking valuable china.

God forbid that any book should be banned. The practice is as indefensible as infanticide.

Writers on the subject of August Strindberg have hitherto omitted to mention that he could not write. ... Strindberg, who was neither a good nor a wise man, had a stroke of luck. He went mad. He lost the power of inhibition. Everything down to the pettiest suspicion that the dog had been given the leanest mutton chop, poured out of his lips. Men of his weakness and sensuality are usually, from their sheer brutishness, unable to express themselves. But Strindberg was mad and articulate. That is what makes him immortal.

Art is not a luxury, but a necessity.

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