You Can't Find The Soul With A

What I Would Like To Write Is A Book About Nothing, A Book Without Exterior Attachments, Which Would Be Held Together By The Innerforce Of Its Style, As The Earth Without Support Is Held In The Air--a Book That Would Have Almost No Subject Or At Least In Which The Subject Would Be Almost Invisible.

Stupidity Is An Immovable Object: You Can't Try To Attack It Wiithout Being Broken By It.

I Have The Handicap Of Being Born With A Special Language To Which I Alone Have The Key.

One Mustn't Ask Apple Trees For Oranges, France For Sun, Women For Love, Life For Happiness.

Criticism Occupies The Lowest Place In The Literary Hierarchy: As Regards Form, Almost Always; And As Regards Moral Value, Incontestably. It Comes After Rhyming Games And Acrostics, Which At Least Require A Certain Inventiveness.