Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
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- What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one’s meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
- The genuine artist is never true to life. He sees what is real, but not as we are normally aware of it. We do not go storming through life like actors in a play. Art is never real life.
- Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
- If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
- The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
- How full of trifles everything is! It is only one’s thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.