The mystery of life--its inexplicability, beauty, cruelty, tenderness, folly . . . has occupied the greater part of my waking thoughts; and in reverence or rage or irony, as the moment or situation might dictate, I have pondered and even demanded of cosmic energy to know Why.

Life is made for the strong. There is no mercy in it for the weak– none...Such is the tragedy of desire.

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

Our civilization is still in a middle stage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longer wholly guided by instinct; scarcely human, in that it is not yet wholly guided by reason.

Why must women torment me so?

Let no one underestimate the need of pity. We live in a stony universe whose hard, brilliant forces rage fiercely.

A thought will color a world for us.