Every good thing in the world stands on the razor-edge of danger.

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

[Camila] was quite incapable of establishing any harmony between the claims of her art, of her appetites, or her dreams, and of her crowded daily routine. Each of these was a world in itself.

You swore you loved me, and laughed and warned me that you would not love me forever. I did not hear you. You were speaking in a language I did not understand. Never, never, I can conceive of a love which is able to foresee its own termination. Love is its own eternity. Love is in every moment of its being: all time. It is the only glimpse we are permitted of what eternity is. So I did not hear you. The words were nonsense.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it -- every, every minute?

Seek the lofty by reading, hearing and seeing great work at some moment every day.

The stuff of which masterpieces are made drifts about the world waiting to be clothed in words.