How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this portrait will remain always young.
The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away.
One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its detail. Details are always vulgar.
Sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.
There is no doubt that genius lasts longer than beauty.
A new life! That was what he wanted. That was what he was waiting for. Surely he.
To test reality we must see it on the tight rope. When the verities become acrobats, we can judge them.
Enough is as bad as a meal. More than enough is as good as a feast.
Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might blow.
Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators.
It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain.
Art had no moral responsibility. Art, he argued, should strive only to be a beautiful object entirely separate from its creator.
The moment was lost in vulgar details.
Out of the black cave of time, terrible and swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin.
He was afraid of certainty.
It was the living death of his own soul that troubled him.
You cut life to pieces with your epigrams.
There was blood on the painted feet, as though the thing had dripped--blood even on the hand that had not held the knife.
The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that.
Some red star had come too close to the earth.
To be good is to be in harmony with one's self. Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others.
The rich would have spoken on the value of thrift and the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour.
What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the canvas.
Ones own soul, and the passions of one’s friends—those were the fascinating things in life.