“All our souls are written in our eyes.”

Stay awhile! ‘Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!

A large nose is in fact the sign of an affable man, good, courteous, witty, liberal, courageous, such as I am.

A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear.

A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear.

I am what I am because early in life I decided that I would please at least myself in all things.

And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you’d read this letter with your lips.

Stay awhile! ‘Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!

Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies.

Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies.

I-I am going to be a storm-a flame- I need to fight whole armies alone; I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel too strong to war with mortals- BRING ME GIANTS!

Your name hangs in my heart like a bell’s tongue.

To joke in the face of danger is the supreme politeness, a delicate refusal to cast oneself as a tragic hero.

My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.

All our souls are written in our eyes.

The dream, alone, is of interest. What is life without a dream?

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.

I’ve written many love songs for Gerard. But it’s never enough. I feel that he deserves a million love songs written for him.

From the Far East I send you one single thought, one sole idea – written in red on every beachhead from Australia to Tokyo – “There is no substitute for victory!”

I believe that books, once they are written, have no need of their authors.

My name will be written in fiery letters on the Champs Elysees.

Before things are written down they don’t exist in quite the same way. The act of fixing them in words gives them a kind of currency that can be traded.

[As] Santayana wrote, ‘Nothing requires a rarer intellectual heroism than willingness to see one’s equation written out.’

Written words still have the amazing power to bring out the best and worst of human nature

The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he’s written it.