An incinerator is a writer's best friend.

The knowledge that she would never be loved in return acted upon her ideas as a tide acts upon cliffs.

If I wasn't an actor, I'd be a secret agent.

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?

[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.

I hold we cannot be said to be aware of our minds save under responsibility.

Even in the most perfect love one person loves less profoundly than the other.