In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
No artist produces great art by a deliberate attempt to express his own personality.
Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.
Success is relative. It is what we make of the mess we have made of things.
Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair.