You send a boy to school in order to make friends of the right sort.

The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.

The beautiful seems right by force of beauty, and the feeble wrong because of weakness.

Indeed, I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

It is the nature of the artist to mind excessively what is said about him. Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.

Humour is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.

Who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?

As a woman, I have no country. As a woman my country is the world.