The disease we all have and that we have to fight against all our lives is ... the disease of self.

Realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art.

Everyone in the world is Christ and they are all crucified.

In youth there are always two forces fighting in people. The warm unthinking little animal struggles against the thing that reflects and remembers

What's wrong with this egotism? If a man doesn't delight in himself and the force in him and feel that he and it are wonders, how is all life to become important to him?

I feel that I am writing out of a full life. I am a rich man, rich in men known, in adventures had. I am rich with living.

People keep on getting married. Evidently hope is eternal in the human breast.