As a rule, it was the pleasure-haters who became unjust.

In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.

Poetry makes nothing happen.

Geniuses are the luckiest of mortals because what they must do is the same as what they most want to do.

From beginning to end Wilde performed his life and continued to do so even after fame had taken the plot out of his own hands.

I don't think the mystical experience can be verbalized. When the ego disappears, so does power over language.

Shall memory restore The steps and the shore, The face and the meeting place.