Music is the best means we have of digesting time.

We would rather be ruined than changed. We would rather die in our dread than climb the cross of the moment and let our illusions die.

Language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought; words will tell you things you never thought or felt before.

Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.

Into this neutral air Where blind skyscrapers use Their full height to proclaim The strength of Collective Man, Each language pours its vain Competitive excuse.

Routine, in an intelligent man, is a sign of ambition.

Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.