. . . there can be no more shameless carelessness than with the food we eat for life itself.
Language is by its very nature a communal thing.
Literature, like memory, selects only the vivid patches.
The artist tries to see what there is to be interested in. . . He has not created something,he has seen something.
In the light of absolute values (religious or ethical) man himself is judged to be limited or imperfect, while he can occasionally accomplish acts which partake of perfection, he, himself can never be perfect.
All emotions are the ore from which poetry may be sifted.
Language is by its very nature a communal thing; that is, it expresses never the exact thing but a compromise - that which is common to you, me, and everybody.
Unanimity is the mistress of strength.
The only limits on human achievement are self-imposed.
The blessings of fortune are the lowest; the next are the bodily advantages of strength and health; but the superlative blessings, in fine, are those of the mind.
I am visible-see this Indian face-yet I am invisible. I both blind them with my beak nose and am their blind spot. But I exist, we exist. They'd like to think I have melted in the pot. But I haven't. We haven't.