There is only one real number: one. And love, apparently, is the best exponent of this singularity.

The evolution of sense is, in a sense, the evolution of nonsense.

Usually I read several books at a time - old books, new books, fiction, nonfiction, verse, anything - and when the bedside heap of a dozen volumes or so has dwindled to two or three, which generally happens by the end of one week, I accumulate another pile.

Burn pedants in pale fire. Accept no fashions. Be your own fashion. Do not rely on earlier triumphs. Be new at each appearance.

The commentator may be excused for repeating what he has stressed in his own books and lectures, namely that "offensive" is frequently but a synonym for "unusual;" and a great work of art is of course always original, and thus by its very nature should come more or less as a shocking surprise.

I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise--a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames--but still a paradise.

I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.