Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can't use the wrong words. But on the other hand here am I sitting after half the morning, crammed with ideas, and visions, and so on, and can't dislodge them, for lack of the right rhythm. Now this is very profound, what rhythm is, and goes far deeper than any words. A sight, an emotion, creates this wave in the mind, long before it makes words to fit it.

His eyes were bright, and, indeed, he scarcely knew whether they held dreams or realities...and in five minutes she had filled the shell of the old dream with the flesh of life.

O friendship, I too will press flowers between the pages of Shakespeare's sonnets!

... pure honesty is a doubtful quality; it means often lack of imagination.

How far do our feelings take their colour from the dive underground? I mean, what is the reality of any feeling?

The weather varies between heavy fog and pale sunshine; My thoughts follow the exact same process.

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.