When I retire I'm going to spend my evenings by the fireplace going through those boxes. There are things in there that ought to be burned.
To live at all is miracle enough.
Each day I live in a glass room unless I break it with the thrusting of my senses and pass through the splintered walls to the great landscape.
This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
As I see it, life is an effort to grip before they slip through one's fingers and slide into oblivion, the startling, the ghastly or the blindingly exquisite fish of the imagination before they whip away on the endless current and are lost for ever in oblivion's black ocean.
There is a brotherhood among the kindly- Closer and defter and more integral- Than any of aisle or coven- For love rang out before the chapel bell
Yet not with all of me am I in love. Too much of my own quietness is with me.
Every fresh acquirement is another remedy against affliction and time.
Instead of isolating our school and our many subjects from the every day world, we intend to plant it not merely in the French capital, but in what for next summer at least will be the focal point, the capital of the entire civilized world.
All things reflect the divine energy of nature—every flower, every rock, every sound, every sight. Once we realize that truth, we cannot help but smile.
The truth which may not be told, is the truth which cannot be told.