When I contemplate the accumulation of guilt and remorse which, like a garbage-can, I carry through life, and which is fed not only by the lightest action but by the most harmless pleasure, I feel Man to be of all living things the most biologically incompetent and ill-organized. Why has he acquired a seventy years life-span only to poison it incurably by the mere being of himself? Why has he thrown Conscience, like a dead rat, to putrefy in the well?
There is immunity in reading, immunity in formal society, in office routine, in the company of old friends and in the giving of officious help to strangers, but there is no sanctuary in one bed from the memory of another. The past with its anguish will break through every defense-line of custom and habit; we must sleep and therefore we must dream.
We may assume that we keep people waiting symbolically because we do not wish to see them and that our anxiety is due not to being late, but to having to see them at all.
It is a consolation of human life that the sick forget what it is like to feel well, or the miserable to be happy.
The only happy talkers are dandies who extract pleasure from the very perishability of their material and who would not be able to tolerate the isolation of all other forms of composition; for most good talkers, when they have run down, are miserable; they know that they have betrayed themselves, that they have taken material which should have a life of its own, to dispense it in noises upon the air.
In America every woman has her set of girl-friends; some are cousins, the rest are gained at school. These form a permanent committee who sit on each other's affairs, who come out together, marry and divorce together, and who end as those groups of bustling, heartless well-informed club-women who govern society. Against them the Couple of Ehepaar is helpless and Man in their eyes but a biological interlude.
The artist secretes nostalgia around life.
No one over thirty-five is worth meeting who has not something to teach us, something more than we could learn for ourselves, from a book.
We love but once, for once only are we perfectly equipped for loving.
When young we are faithful to individuals, when older we grow loyal to situations and to types.
What grape to keep its place in the sun, taught our ancestors to make wine?
It is a mistake to expect good work from expatriates for it is not what they do that matters but what they are not doing.
An aesthetic movement with a revolutionary dynamism and no popular appeal should proceed quite otherwise than by public scandal, publicity stunt, noisy expulsion and excommunication.
Imagination is nostalgia for the past, the absent it is the liquid solution in which art develops the snapshot of reality.
Classical and romantic: private language of a family quarrel, a dead dispute over the distribution of emphasis between man and nature.
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