In fact, though their acquaintance had been so short, they had guessed, as always happens between lovers, everything of any importance about each other in two seconds at the utmost, and it now remained only to fill in such unimportant details as what they were called; where they lived; and whether they were beggars or people of substance.

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

Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.

I [who] am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement.

It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.

Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.

I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.