Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them.

Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.

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

This soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us. If one has the courage to ask her what she thinks, she is always saying the very opposite to what other people say.

I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful.

The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.

How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?