Whenever you see a board up with "Trespassers will be prosecuted," trespass at once.

Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.

This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.

These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism.

Her only gift was knowing people almost by instinct, she thought, walking on. If you put her in a room with someone, up went her back like a cat's; or she purred.

loveliness is infernally sad.

And now more than anything I want beautiful prose. I relish it more and more exquisitely.