... it's been a perpetual discovery, my life. A miracle.

Night had come—night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.

As an experience, madness is terrific ... and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about.

In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows.

I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.

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

What greater delight and wonder can there be than to leave the straight lines of personality and deviate into these footpaths that lead beneath brambles and thick tree trunks into the heart of the forest where live those wild beasts, our fellow men? That is true: to escape is the greatest of pleasures; street haunting in winter the greatest of adventures.