The joy of life consists in the exercise of one's energies, continual growth, constant change, the enjoyment of every new experience. To stop means simply to die. The eternal mistake of mankind is to set up an attainable ideal.

The workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery of the universe. One moment they make us despair of our kind, and the next we see in them the reflection of the divine image.

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noice, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create...so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buidlings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward sense of urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating. 

A woman is the only thing that I am afraid of that I know will not hurt me.