It is no use trying to sum people up. One must follow hints, not exactly what is said, nor yet entirely what is done.

I find that when I've seen a certain number of people my mind becomes like an old match box -- the part one strikes on, I mean.

No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.

She felt drawing further from her and further from her an Archduke, (she did not mind that) a fortune, (she did not mind that) the safety and circumstance of married life, (she did not mind that) but life she heard going from her, and a lover.

A writer should give direct certainty; explanations are so much water poured into the wine.

There was no freedom in life, and certainly there was none in death.

Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?