Sometimes I think heaven must be one continuous unexhausted reading.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.

I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? - like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.

The only advice ... that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions.

Who would not spout the family teapot in order to talk with Keats for an hour about poetry, or with Jane Austen about the art of fiction?

It is probable that both in life and in art the values of a woman are not the values of a man.