But how entirely I live in my imagination; how completely depend upon spurts of thought, coming as I walk, as I sit; things churning up in my mind and so making a perpetual pageant, which is to be my happiness.

It is no use trying to sum people up.

Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can't use the wrong words.

I worship you, but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise and the thought of you interfering with my work, hindering me; what would you answer?

There is the strange power we have of changing facts by the force of the imagination.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.

The poet gives us his essence, but prose takes the mould of the body and mind entire.