For there is a virtue in truth; it has an almost mystic power. Like radium, it seems to give off forever and ever grains of energy, atoms of light.

Venerable are letters, infinitely brave, forlorn, and lost.

I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.

The man who is aware of himself is henceforward independent; and he is never bored, and life is only too short, and he is steeped through and through with a profound yet temperate happiness.

A perfect treat must include a trip to a second-hand bookshop.

There is no room for the impurities of literature in an essay.