The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists.
Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.
For life is terribly deficient in form. Its catastrophes happen in the wrong way and to the wrong people. There is a grotesque horror about its comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce.
We are all our own demon, and we make this world are hell.
People are either hunting for husbands, or hiding from them.
Even things that are true can be proved.