You are an over-excited little man, with a need for self-expression far beyond the scope of your natural gifts. This is not discreditable. Neither does it make you an artist.

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify - capriciously - their urge for immortality.

They loved, and quarreled, and made up, and loved, and fought, and were true to each other and untrue. She made him the happiest man in the whole world and the most wretched, and after a few years she died, and then, when he was thirty, he died, too. But by that time Catullus had invented the love poem.

We drift down time, clutching at straws. But what good's a brick to a drowning man?

James Joyce - an essentially private man who wished his total indifference to public notice to be universally recognized.

In England the rich own the poor and the men own the women.

There is no one so radical as a man-servant whose freedom of the champagne bin has been interfered with.

You can persuade a man to believe almost anything provided he is clever enough, but it is much more difficult to persuade someone less clever.