To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is...at last, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away.

I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity.

Would there be trees if we didn't see them?

But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love.

old emotions like old families have intermarried and have many connections.

The mind of an artist, in order to achieve the prodigious effort of freeing whole and entire the work that is in him, must be incandescent...there must be no obstacle in it, no foreign matter unconsumed.

You send a boy to school in order to make friends - the right sort.