Language is a part of our organism and no less complicated than it.

It is impossible to translate the poets. Can you translate music?

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.

A good newspaper, I suppose, is a nation talking to itself.

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.

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

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.

The chief merit of language is clearness, and we know that nothing detracts so much from this as do unfamiliar terms.

Language is the archives of history.

I sometimes think of what future historians will say of us. A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.

Language ought to be the joint creation of poets and manual workers.

In the case of news, we should always wait for the sacrament of confirmation.

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