do what only a true artist can do ... pounce upon the forgotten butterfly of revelation

Alas! In vain historians pry and probe: The same wind blows, and in the same live robe Truth bends her head to fingers curved cupwise; And with a woman's smile and a child's care Examines something she is holding there Concealed by her own shoulder from our eyes.

My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.

It is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.

Chess problems demand from the composer the same virtues that characterize all worthwhile art: originality, invention, conciseness, harmony, complexity, and splendid insincerity

I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.

Stirless, I stand at the window, and in the black bowl of the sky glows like a golden drop of honey the mellow moon