I ransack public libraries & find them full of sunk treasure.

It doesn't have to be the truth, just your vision of it, written down.

He called her a melon, a pineapple, an olive tree, an emerald, and a fox in the snow all in the space of three seconds; he did not know whether he had heard her, tasted her, seen her, or all three together.

The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering.

I am overwhelmed with things I ought to have written about and never found the proper words.

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?

Inevitably we look upon society, so kind to you, so harsh to us, as an ill-fitting form that distorts the truth; deforms the mind; fetters the will.