She merely beamed a fatty beam. She was almost ponderous, and pink, with a tendency to a double chin.
The most futile thing in this world is any attempt, perhaps, at exact definition of character. All individuals are a bundle of contradictions – none more so than the most capable.
I believe in the compelling power of love. I do not understand it. I believe it to be the most fragrant blossom of all this thorny existence.
Life is a God-damned, stinking, treacherous game and nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand are bastards.
The strong man wants to be allowed to DO; the little man wants to stop him.
How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean.
In order to have wisdom we must have ignorance.
Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.
Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.