There are two ways of spreading light -- to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

There are two ways of spreading light; to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.

I wonder, among all the tangles of this mortal coil, which one contains tighter knots to undo, and consequently suggests more tugging, and pain, and diversified elements of misery, than the marriage tie.

After all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others.

I have never known a novel that was good enough to be good in spite of its being adapted to the author's political views.

A classic is classic not because it conforms to certain structural rules, or fits certain definitions (of which its author had quite probably never heard). It is classic because of a certain eternal and irrepressible freshness.

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

Life is the only real counselor; wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue.

Art is on the side of the oppressed. Think before you shudder at the simplistic dictum and its heretical definition of the freedom of art. For if art is freedom of the spirit, how can it exist within the oppressors?

Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.