There was a serenity about him always that had the look of innocence, when, technically, the word was no longer applicable.

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

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.

Without self awareness we are as babies in the cradles.

Ruin, weariness, death, perpetually death, stand grimly to confront the other presence of Elizabethan drama which is life: life compact of frigates, fir trees and ivory, of dolphins and the juice of July flowers, of the milk of unicorns and panthers’ breath, of ropes of pearl, brains of peacocks and Cretan wine.

Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.

I worship you, but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise and the thought of you interfering with my work, hindering me; what would you answer?