I had come to Yugoslavia to see what history meant in flesh and blood.

Existence in itself, taken at its least miraculous, is a miracle.

The Portrait of a Lady is entirely successful in giving one the sense of having met somebody far too radiantly good for this world.

the law, like art, is always vainly racing to catch up with experience.

She saw she had fallen into the hands of one of those doctors who have strayed too far from apparent in the direction of the soul.

When those of our army whose voices are likely to coo tell us that the day of sex antagonism is over and that henceforth we only have to advance hand in hand with the male, I do not believe it.

All our Western thought is founded on this repulsive pretence that pain is the proper price of any good thing.