The older one grows the more one likes indecency.
The moment was all; the moment was enough.
The history of men’s opposition to women’s emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.
The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.
The extraordinary woman depends on the ordinary woman.
The artist after all is a solitary being.
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
Somewhere, everywhere, now hidden, now apparent in what ever is written down is the form of a human being. If we seek to know him, are we idly occupied.
Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.
Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.
Really I don’t like human nature unless all candied over with art.
One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
