What is art? It is not decoration. It is the re-living of experience.

A bad short story or novel or poem leaves one comparatively calm because it does not exist, unless it gets a fake prestige throughbeing mistaken for good work. It is essentially negative, it is something that has not come through. But over bad criticism one has a sense of real calamity.

A great many quite good plays could be performed with rhythmic howls in the place of dialogue and lose almost nothing by the change.

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

Behind it was that vast suspension bridge which always troubles me because it reminds me that in this mechanized age I am as little able to understand my environment as any primitive woman who thinks that a waterfall is inhabited by a spirit, and indeed less so, for her opinion might from a poetical point of view be correct.

Woman too commonly commits the sin of self-sacrifice whereby she consents to be sequestered in the home, without intellectual stimulus, so that the tranquil flame of her unspoiled soul should radiate purity and nobility upon an indefinitely extended family.

It is the soul's duty to be loyal to its own desires. It must abandon itself to its master passion.