No more Hope, no more Glory, no more parades for you and me any more.…

Only two classes of books are of universal appeal: the very best and the very worst.

No author, I think, is deserving of much censure for vanity if, taking down one of his ten-year-old books, he exclaims: "Great heavens, did I write as well as that then?" for the implication always is that one does not write any longer so …

If for nine years I have possessed a goodly apple that is rotten at the core and discover its rottenness only in nine years and six months less four days, isn't it true to say that for nine years I possessed a goodly apple?

What the artist wishes to do — as far as you are concerned — is to take you out of yourself. As far as he is concerned, he wishes to express himself.

I couldn't regard myself as personally repulsive. No man can, or, if he ever comes to do so, that is the end of him.

This is the saddest story I have ever heard.