People are so overwhelmed with the prestige of their instruments that they consider their personal judgement of hardly any account.

A hundred things are done today in the divine name of Youth, that if they showed their true colors would be seen by rights to belong rather to old age.

Almost anything that can be praised or advocated has been put to some disgusting use. There is no principle, however immaculate, that has not had its compromising manipulator.

Sadistic excess attempts to reach roughly and by harshness what art reaches by fineness.

Spain is an overflow of sombreness . . . a strong and threatening tide of history meets you at the frontier.

A sort of war of revenge on the intellect is what, for some reason, thrives in the contemporary social atmosphere.

It is more comfortable for me, in the long run, to be rude than polite.