Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean.

The strong man wants to be allowed to DO; the little man wants to stop him.

Remember, love is all a woman has to give, but it is the only thing which God permits us to carry beyond the grave.

I sacrifice to the God of Beauty — the impulse to beauty in nature. Here are flowers. Here is wine spilled on the floor. I will burn incense & myrhh. I will kneel & strike my breast & touch the dust with my forehead. I will I will! Only do not forsake me, Oh God of beauty.

The true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explained and comprehended.

Life is a God-damned, stinking, treacherous game and nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand are bastards.