The rain fell alike upon the just and upon the unjust, and for nothing was there a why and a wherefore.

I made up my mind long ago that life was too short to do anything for myself that I could pay others to do for me.

Tolerance is another word for indifference.

The ballet. I saw in the fugitive beauty of a dancer's gesture a symbol of life. It was achieved at the cost of unending effort but, with all the forces of gravity against it, a fleeting poise in mid-air, a lovely attitude worthy to be made immortal in a bas-relief, it was lost as soon as it was gained and there remained no more than the memory of an exquisite emotion. So life, lived variously and largely, becomes a work of art only when brought to its beautiful conclusion and is reduced to nothingness in the moment when it arrives at perfection.

The humour of Dostoievsky is the humour of a barloafer who ties a kettle to a dog's tail.

Art, unless it leads to right action, is no more than the opium of an intelligentsia.

The normal is what you find but rarely. The normal is an ideal. It is a picture that one fabricates of the average characteristics of men, and to find them all in a single man is hardly to be expected.