“Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory, and the truth of every passion wants some pretence to make it live.”

Nowhere else than upon the sea do the days, weeks, and months fall away quicker into the past. They seem to be left astern as easily as the light air-bubbles in the swirls of the ship’s wake.

All a man can betray is his conscience.

They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force–nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.

I take it that what all men are really after is some form or perhaps only some formula of peace.

History repeats itself, but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird.

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

But it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker – may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling!

As a general rule, a reputation is built on manner as much as on achievement.

Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.

Few men realize that their life, the very essence of their character, their capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety of their surroundings.

We live as we dream – alone. While the dream disappears, the life continues painfully.

Art is long and life is short, and success is very far off.

Your strength is just an accident owed to the weakness of others.

The human heart is vast enough to contain all the world.

Protection is the first necessity of opulence and luxury.

It occurred to me that my speech or my silence, indeed any action of mine, would be a mere futility.

I wouldn’t want to live without strong misgivings.

We live in a wondrous time, in which the strong is weak because of his scruples and the weak grows strong because of his audacity.

Modern candidates seem to have to live with political matters all the time. In my father’s time, a politician’s home was still his castle.

You start to live when a moment feels like a lifetime.

He was going to live forever, or die in the attempt.

She was his laughter, that filled the air passages with freedom of living, his creator of smiles.

Let’s take a drive into the middle of nowhere with a packet of Marlboro lights and talk about our lives.

I guess I’ve always lived the glamorous life of a star. It’s nothing new – I used to spend down to the last dime.