Art... is merely the refuge which the ingenious have invented, when they were supplied with food and women… — William Somerset Maugham

Of course it was cause and effect, but in the necessity with which follows the other lay all tragedy of life.

When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me.

There's always one who loves and one who lets himself be loved.