An artist is a man of action, whether he creates a personality, invents an expedient, or finds the issue of a complicated situation.
As to honor - you know - it's a very fine mediaeval inheritance which women never got hold of. It wasn't theirs.
All ambitions are lawful except those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.
Action is consolatory. It is the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illusions.
A word carries far, very far, deals destruction through time as the bullets go flying through space.
A modern fleet of ships does not so much make use of the sea as exploit a highway.
A man's real life is that accorded to him in the thoughts of other men by reason of respect or natural love.
A man's most open actions have a secret side to them.
A man that is born falls into a dream like a man who falls into the sea. If he tries to climb out into the air as inexperienced people endeavor to do, he drowns.
A caricature is putting the face of a joke on the body of a truth.
As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for himself mostly by the passion of his prejudices and the consistent narrowness of his outlook.
Words, as is well known, are the great foes of reality.
Any work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line.
It is not the clear-sighted who rule the world. Great achievements are accomplished in a blessed, warm fog.
You can't, in sound morals, condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty.