As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.

What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.

Without imagination of the one kind or of the other, mortal existence is indeed a dreary and prosaic business... Illumined by the imagination, our life, whatever its defeats - is a never-ending unforeseen strangeness and adventure and mystery.

As soon as they're out of your sight, you are out of their mind.

After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.

The only catalogue of this world's goods that really counts is that which we keep in the silence of the mind.

Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.