But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people.

The spring without a leaf to toss, bare and bright like a virgin fierce in her chastity, scornful in her purity, was laid out on fields wide-eyed and watchful and entirely careless of what was done or thought by the beholders.

Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.

What a labour writing is ... making one sentence do the work of a page; that's what I call hard work.

That complete statement which is literature.

So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.

for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge