literature is the record of our discontent.

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.

The root of things, what they were all afraid of saying, was that happiness is dirt cheap. You can have it for nothing. Beauty.

Habits and customs are a convenience devised for the support of timid natures who dare not allow their souls free play.

I want some one to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarreling and reconciliation I need privacy--to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order. For I am as neat as a cat in my habits.

Intellectual freedom depends upon material things.

It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.