All myths that are something more than fancies gain rather than lose in value with time, by reason of the accretions of human experience.

You can't fake it. Bad writing is a gift.

It is the fine excesses of life that make it worth living.

The beauty we love is very silent. It smiles softly to itself, but never speaks.

We also maintain - again with perfect truth - that mystery is more than half of beauty, the element of strangeness that stirs the senses through the imagination.

Organized Christianity has probably done more to retard the ideals that were its founder's than any other agency in the world.

The road recedes as the traveler advances, leaving a continuous present.