Details are always vulgar.
The weather still continues charming.
Popularity is the one insult I have never suffered.
Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
Frank Harris has no feelings. It is the secret of his success. Just as the fact that he thinks that other people have none either is the secret of the failure that lies in wait for him somewhere on the way of Life.
If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out.
The bureaucracy is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding bureaucracy.
Perhaps one never seems so much at one's ease as when one has to play a part.