every human activity, whether it be love, philosophy, art, or revolution, is carried on with a special intensity in Paris.

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

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

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

Most magazines have that look of being predestined to be left which one sees on the faces of the women whose troubles bring them to the Law Courts.

The mind is its own enemy, that fights itself with the innumerable pliant and ineluctable arms of the octopus.

Literature must be an analysis of experience and a synthesis of the findings into a unity.