 These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism. |
| A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. |
| Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order. |
| Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art. |
| To depend upon a profession is a less odious form of slavery than to depend upon a father. |
| On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points. |
| Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others. |
| Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. |
| Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body? |
| My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for? |
| Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue. |
| That great Cathedral space which was childhood. |
| It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour; riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work. |
| There can be no two opinions as to what a highbrow is. He is the man or woman of thoroughbred intelligence who rides his mind at a gallop across country in pursuit of an idea. |
| Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice. |
| The beautiful seems right by force of beauty, and the feeble wrong because of weakness. |
| For most of history, Anonymous was a woman. |
| Great bodies of people are never responsible for what they do. |
| I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in. |
| Once conform, once do what other people do because they do it, and a lethargy steals over all the finer nerves and faculties of the soul. She becomes all outer show and inward emptiness; dull, callous, and indifferent. |
