Wealth, if not a mere flash in the pan, compels the wealthy to become wealthier.

Only two things are real to me: my love and my death. In between them, I merely exist as a scatter of senses.

I realize that it is as one ages and loses one's natural force that one is at the mercy of heredity. The young are themselves: the aging, their parents' children.

... possessiveness cannot accept; it cannot even strike a fair bargain; it has to confer.

Total grief is like a minefield. No knowing when one will touch the tripwire.

Happy is the day whose history is not written down.

... Rembrandt is not a painter at all. He is a creator, who creates his beings, three dimensional living beings, on a two-dimensional flat surface which acts as a mute, and enforces silence on them.