Too much is written by the men who can't write about the men who do…

I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. “Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!”

I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.

Life? Bah! It has no value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest.

Life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.

Judge them by their works. What have they done for mankind beyond the spinning of airy fancies and the mistaking of their own shadows for gods?

The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances.