Why is life so tragic; so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.

The human frame being what it is, heart, body and brain all mixed together, and not contained in separate compartments as they will be no doubt in another million years, a good dinner is of great importance to good talk. One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.

Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame

Consolation for those moments when you can't tell whether you're the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.