It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a diary. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one’s own identity.

So much perfection argues rottenness somewhere.

If I ever felt inclined to be timid as I was going into a room full of people, I would say to myself, ‘You’re the cleverest member of one of the cleverest families in the...

Religion is love; in no case is it logic