Our best yesterdays are now foul piles of crumpled names.

Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.

Imagination, the supreme delight of the immortal and the immature, should be limited. In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much.

I grew, a happy, healthy child in a bright world of illustrated books, clean sand, orange trees, friendly dogs, sea vistas and smiling faces.

if a violin string could ache, i would be that string.

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

A wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle.