"At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we h..." — F. Scott Fitzgerald

Great art is the contempt of a great man for small art.

His was a great sin who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours.

I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside.

When people are taken out of their depths they lose their heads, no matter how charming a bluff they may put up.