Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.

It bothered me that whatever was waiting wasn't waiting for me

Life is very nice, but it lacks form. It's the aim of art to give it some.

Have you noticed that life, with murders and catastrophes and fabulous inheritances, happens almost exclusively in newspapers?

The object of art is to give life shape.

Tragedy is restful: and the reason is that hope, that foul, deceitful thing, has no part in it.