Often I have thought of the day when I gazed for the first time at the sea. The sea is vast, the sea is wide, my eyes roved far and wide and longed to be free. But there was the horizon. Why a horizon, when I wanted the infinite from life?

Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.

Yes, they are carnal, both of them, love and death, and therein lies their terror and their great magic!

Innate in nearly every artistic nature is a wanton, treacherous penchant for accepting injustice when it creates beauty and showing sympathy for and paying homage to aristocratic privilege.

If you are possessed by an idea, you find it expressed everywhere, you even smell it.

A great truth is a truth whose opposite is also a truth.

Is not life in itself a thing of goodness, irrespective of whether the course it takes for us can be called a 'happy' one?