History looks queer when you’re standing close to it, watching where it is coming from and how it’s being made.

Genius is immediate, but talent takes time.

I act as a sponge. I soak it up and squeeze it out in ink every two weeks.

She felt about a love set as a painter does about his masterpiece; each ace serve was a form of brushwork to her, and her fantastically accurate shot-placing was certainly a study in composition.

When you look at the startling ruins of Nuremberg, you are looking at a result of the war. When you look at the prisoners on view in the courthouse, you are looking at 22 of...

Isadore [Duncan], who had an un-American genius for art, for organizing love, maternity, politics and pedagogy on a great personal scale, had also an un-American genius for grandeur.

The German passion for bureaucracy — for written and signal forms . . . to move about, to work, to exist — is like a steel pin pinning each French individual to a sheet of...

By jove, no wonder women don’t love war nor understand it, nor can operate in it as a rule; it takes a man to suffer what other men have invented . . .

The older women were Sunbeams and I guess we were Cherubs or Lambs, but our mothers were Nightingales.

Women have invented nothing in all that, except the men who were born as male babies and grew up to be men big enough to be killed fighting.

She had storms all her life, but she died peacefully.

She was built for crowds. She has never come any closer to life than the dinner table.

In the history of art there are periods when bread seems so beautiful that it nearly gets into museums.

I keep going over a sentence. I nag it, gnaw it, pat and flatter it.