It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.

What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast chaos and confusion of books; we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning.

I rather think the cinema will die. Look at the energy being exerted to revive it—yesterday it was color, today three dimensions. I don’t give it forty years more. Witness the decline of conversation. Only the Irish have remained incomparable conversationalists, maybe because technical progress has passed them by.

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.

Every man has a right to utter what he thinks truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for it. Martyrdom is the test.

Man is the one name belonging to every nation upon earth: there is one soul and many tongues, one spirit and various sounds; every country has its own speech, but the subjects of speech are common to all.

It is a luxury to be understood.

Language is the armory of the human mind and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests. 

Language is the house of being. In its home human beings dwell. Those who think and those who create with words are the guardians of this home.

Speak and speed; the close mouth catches no flies.

My language is the common prostitute that I turn into a virgin.

The newspaper is the natural enemy of the book, as the whore is of the decent woman.

Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.